


Return/Retry/Resend

by DrNeverland



Series: Of Things That May Be Only 'Verse [7]
Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy X
Genre: (I can't believe I forgot to tag that initially), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Fantasy, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vulnerability, sci-fi elements are handwaved, so many tropes so little time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 06:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrNeverland/pseuds/DrNeverland
Summary: Auron and Seymour are dead in the Farplane... or are they? The Farplane (aka the Lifestream) spits them out in a strange place - or does it? Finding themselves 2000 years in the future, with no one speaking their language, Auron and Seymour are the only ones from their time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I marked this with Suicidal Thoughts because both Auron and Seymour talk about being "dead again" which while they're not actively suicidal, I'm aware enough that them talking about returning to the Farplane (ie: be dead) might trigger someone so I'd rather be safe than sorry. If you think you can handle it, please, read on. If the idea makes you uncomfortable, please don't harm yourself for the sake of fic. <3

The Farplane.

Though death had claimed Auron early in life, he had not reached it until much later, when he had finally found his peace after helping Yuna defeat Sin, once and for all.

It was warm there, like the beach in Besaid.

It was peaceful.

Auron thought he would have an eternity of peace, with Braska, with Jecht, and when the time came, his old friends who would greet him as they passed away. No more lives cut short by Sin. No more tragedies. No more war.

Of course, he could have no idea what happened in the world of the living as it went on, thousands of years going by while he existed in an eternal summer.

What Auron did not know was that the living had found new ways to tap into the Farplane. People left behind religious teachings and prayers. They traded in tradition for science. Instead of praying to the Fayth, the found a way to tap into and condense the planet’s lifeblood, turning it into power for many and then, power of the few.

 

Seymour had never desired to return to life when he was laid to rest. With Sin destroyed, his soul sent, his mind cleared. All the pain and anger in his life ceased to be. The Farplane did not judge or punish him for his crimes. He reunited with his mother in the Farplane, and Seymour considered himself finally free. Jyscal was there, but ever-distant, away from his abandoned family, as they would have it.

In the land of the dead, Seymour did not see the passage of time in the realm of the living, nor could he bring himself to care for it. All the crimes he had committed, done again by other men with other agendas, but they not something Seymour could bring himself to care for. He had no legacy. He was dead.

His mind was quiet.

He was free.

 

However, the Farplane, the Lifestream, the Planet and its guardians, have other plans in mind when it comes to the cycles of time…

 

_ “Sir, we found an anomaly in the North Crater region.” _

_ “For the love of- it’s not another Weapon, is it? Strife’s not gonna be happy-” _

_ “No, it doesn’t seem like another one of  _ **_those_ ** _ anomalies. Shall I dispatch a team to the area?” _

_ “Yeah, sure. Inform Tuesti, but just do a standard sweep. If necessary, detain and retrieve anything that may be considered useful, but if it’s another disaster, inform the Director right away.” _

_ “Yes, sir. Retrieval units Alpha and Beta, to airship bay 1. Sweep and retrieval mission.” _

 

Auron could not remember falling asleep in the Farplane - ever - let alone waking to a blinding light and chilling cold. The Farplane had always been warm, and comfortably lit at the edge of twilight. Burning rays of sun and harsh wind greeted Auron as he sat up, his vision blurry. The cold bit his flesh and stung his eye.

Pulling his robe around himself, Auron swayed, getting to his feet. Staggering forward, he struggled to get his bearings. His whole body ached with the cold. He never felt so lost before. If he was lost on Gagazet, he wondered how long it would take before the Ronso found him, frozen. Could an Unsent freeze? Was this how he became a fiend?

_ “This isn’t quite right… _ ” he thought, memories catching up to him.  _ “I don’t remember feeling the cold in Gagazet.” _

Slipping his arm through the loose sleeve of his coat, Auron pulled his belt a bit tighter to keep the frigid wind from reaching his skin. Finding purchase against a rock wall, Auron used it to keep his balance as he started downhill, hoping that if he were separated from the others, they could find each other soon.

_ “Maybe it was all a dream… defeating Sin, finishing off Seymour…” _ Auron’s thoughts were plagued with doubt. If Sin were still alive, what were they doing on Gagazet? Had Seymour simply knocked him for a loop in the battle on the mountain? Was it possible for an Unsent to hallucinate?

As he asked himself these questions, a great roaring noise came from overhead. Some sort of… Machina, was all he could think to call the thing. Like the airship of the Al Bhed, but smaller. It made a horrible whirring noise as it approached, all glossy, black metal and spinning blades screaming through the air.

 

_ “Down there! I see someone in the snow!” _

_ “Does it look like the other one Beta Team found?” _

_ “No, but he still looks human.” _

_ “Circle lower, we can lower the ladders.” _

 

Auron flattened his back against the rock wall as the small airship looped overhead. Two chained ladders fell from either of its sides, lowering people down to the mountainside. Reaching for his sword, Auron’s numb fingers clasped at the air, striking nothing.

He took a defensive stance, even as the other people approached slowly, hands raised in outward surrender.

They spoke to him, but between the scream of the Machina hovering over them and the wind it generated, Auron couldn’t understand a word they said. The one in front, Auron assuming to be the leader, gestured for him to come closer. They pointed to the Machina above, then gestured in a way Auron could only guess meant “we’re getting you out of here.”

Looking above himself, and at the mountain around them, Auron weighed his choices.

“I have friends out here. They’re lost, too,” he said, trying to shout over the noise.

The leader looked to one of their teammates, who simply shrugged. The leader gave Auron the thumbs up, then climbed the ladder. The other two climbed back on the other side, while the last waited for Auron to ascend before following him up.

Seated and strapped into the Machina, Auron took a moment to assess the interior. Small, cramped, and noisy. The others were speaking to each other with some sort of Machina attached to their heads. The doors to the mini-airship were shut, and they were moving.

Auron gripped the bottom of his seat and swallowed. He had never been afraid of the Fahrenheit, but this smaller airship bumped and swayed unsteadily. The wind outside rocked and knocked the transport under him, and he felt nausea turn his stomach.

One of the rescue team said something to him, a language he had never heard before, and Auron shook his head. It didn’t sound like Al Bhed or Guado tongue, and certainly wasn’t Spiran.

“I have friends who may be lost as well,” he tried again, shouting above the din. Once more, they all looked at each other, as if  _ he _ were speaking another language. “Friends. In the snow,” he insisted, pointing at the window.

 

_ “You get what he said?” asked the Alpha Leader. _

_ “Sounded kind of like Wutain, but garbled,” replied Alpha Leader’s SIC. _

_ “Maybe he  _ **_was_ ** _ with that other one,” suggested the medic. _

_ “We’ll get him back to base, maybe he’ll start making sense when he thaws out,” said the pilot. _

 

“Where are you taking me?” Auron insisted, disliking that they were ignoring him. Or pretending they didn’t understand. Even most Al Bhed understood  _ some _ Spiran. When he went ignored after his third try, Auron reached over to the leader and grabbed their coat. As he did, the other “rescuers” seized his arm. In the struggle, the airship rocked unsteadily in the sky. The pilot shouted back at him, as well as the others in the passenger seats. Auron shoved and struck out; they were kidnapping him, it had to be.

Managing to get unstrapped from his seat, Auron made for the door. Just as his hand got on the handle, a sharp pain stung his thigh. His vision darkened quickly, and his limbs went numb under him. As he felt his body give up without his control, the last thing Auron saw was one of his kidnappers ease the glasses from his face.

 

_ “Would you look at that scar? Pretty badass.” _

_ “Well, he’s obviously used to taking risks. He tried to jump out! What kind of guy leaps out of a helicopter?” _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auron and Seymour find themselves in a strange facility. No one speaks a language they know. There's a man in a suit who seems to be in charge. Auron and Seymour decide to be allies.

Seymour awoke, face down on a small cot in a gray room. Pushing himself up, he nearly stumbled off the makeshift bed as feeling returned to his limbs. Slinking to the floor, he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to recall how he got where he was.

He remembered waking up in the snow, feeling the cold bite into his skin. He had been surrounded by people in thick coats, who seemed to be rescuers - at first. They had taken his staff from his reach, and had their hands all over him. A Fire spell had sent them skittering apart like insects.

Raised to his feet, they had seemed more apprehensive on approaching him until someone stabbed him in the neck.

_His neck--_

Seymour reached to touch his injury, when he felt a thick collar in place. Not bandages; the surface was hard and smooth. He started to speak, when he heard his own voice come from the thing on his neck, but scratchy and strained.

_“A Silence Machina. How clever.”_ Seymour smirked bitterly; he had proven to be immediately dangerous to his captors, and they restrained his magic. _“Must be Al Bhed…”_ he guessed, getting up from the cool floor under him. He looked down. His clothing was gone, replaced with a simple white gown that barely reached his knees. Feeling over his head, his hair had been pulled back, tied off with something he could barely pick at. Looking at his hands, he realized his nails had even been trimmed to short, blunt edges.

As he mused upon the ways his captors would be slowly tortured for robbing and collaring him, he heard noises beyond the door of his room. Approaching the door, Seymour scraped the smooth metal, finding no handle or latch to let him free. All he could do was peer out a small window at the top.

From there, he saw out into more gray; a metal hallway. A group of five seemed to be escorting a bed to a chamber across the hall from him. Seymour scowled through the window until he recognized the face of the man laying there.

“Sir Auron?!” Seymour strained out. He banged on the door, catching the attention of one of the escorts. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you brought him here? What do you want of us?” Seymour tried to shout, but it all ended up harsh whispers, crackling through the filter on his neck.

One of the captors turned their attention to Seymour, looking at him curiously through the window. Seymour banged his fist against the door one more time, and the captor turned away to address the others.

 

_“Hey, I think these two really do know each other. Blue boy in there got a huge reaction when we brought in the new guy.”_

_“Blue boy?”_

_“Well, we don’t have a name for him, so that’s what the nurse nicknamed him. He doesn’t speak a word of Common.”_

_“Huh, neither did this guy. Maybe they should meet, when big Red here wakes up.”_

_“Now who came up with that one?”_

_“Alpha Leader Mike. ‘Cause he was wearing this red bathrobe when they found him.”_

_“Well, I’ll tell the director they seem to know each other. Maybe they’ll agree to cooperate if they know their friend is safe.”_

 

Seymour backed away from the door. He thought he had their attention, but after watching them speak to each other, they loaded Auron into the other cell and left him behind. Seymour clawed at the collar on his throat again, then slumped against the door. They were trapped.

 

*

 

“Director Tuesti, it’s a pleasure to have you,” said Mike, greeting the head of the WRO as he shrugged out of his heavy coat. “…instead of your connection robots. You really have to see these guys in person.”

“Well, when I heard there were signs of Mako anomalies, I wanted to make sure it was contained. Have the signals stayed the same?”

“Here’s the thing…” Mike sat down at a table and pushed a couple of folders toward Reeve. “After the first couple flares, the anomalies stopped. We’ve been all over the side of the crater and down inside it, but all we found were these two… uh… men?”

Reeve placed his hand on the top folder. “Why did you hesitate?”

“Well, one of them is a magic user, but we couldn’t find a scrap of Materia on him. We had to restrain him with one of those silence collars we reserve for collecting wild species,” Mike explained. “I was wondering if that sounded… familiar?”

“Like something from Shin-Ra’s genetic testing days?” Reeve opened the top folder, marked “Subject: Blue.” Examining the photos of the unconscious subject inside, he realized why that one was referred to as “Blue.” Every bit of hair on his body was an unnatural shade of electric blue. Reeve blushed a bit at how _thoroughly_ the subject’s body was documented to make that discovery. “Strange markings on his face… tribal tattoos?”

“We believe it’s some sort of vein, actually. There are similar marks on his hands and uh… upper thighs. We don’t know what this is,” Mike said, pointing to an unusual arc of lines on Blue’s abdomen. “These look like some sort of scar tissue… We also took samples from their clothing. Subject Blue’s robes were made of some kind of silky material we haven’t been able to identify. The patterns and style don’t seem to fit with anything from recent history, either.”

Reeve nodded, closing Subject Blue’s folder and opening the one marked Subject Red. Unlike Blue, however, this man seemed fairly normal, save for a large scar - among many others - on the right side of his body.

“Whatever it was that hit him looks like it should have killed him,” Reeve said.

“That’s what we were thinking, but he attacked us in the helicopter and tried to _jump_ midair. It was lucky that Dr. Ritter had a tranquilizer on him. This one-” Mike tapped the photo of the unconscious man. “Seems no stranger to danger.”

Reeve looked at the other photos and the extensive documentation of his body scars. His muscles were impressive, for a guy who looked like he was approaching forty. Suddenly, Reeve felt very self-conscious about his own workout routine.

“He’s, um… well kept,” Reeve said, clearing his throat. “Are they awake?”

“Subject Blue woke up an hour ago, but he hasn’t accepted anything we’ve tried to feed him. Subject Red should just be coming to.”

Reeve got to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket. “Well, take me to them. I’d like to meet these gentlemen.”

Mike got to his feet and chuckled. “Good luck getting anything out of them. Neither seems to speak a known language. We’re trying to figure out if it’s code or maybe the cold did some…” Mike paused and tapped at his head. “Brain damage.”

“We’ll have to see. If they can at least agree to behave, we can get them to warmer climates and work on figuring out the rest later. For now, let’s see what they have to say.”

 

Reeve had clothes gathered for both men - some humble sweats and long sleeve shirts on site in case they did find any unfortunate people lost on the mountain. They were warmer and more dignified than hospital gowns at any rate.

Approaching Subject Blue’s door, Reeve announced himself by knocking before peering in. The blue-haired man knelt in the middle of the floor, stretching his arms over his head before sweeping them in a downward arc to some sort of gesture and repeating the motion. He spared the door a glance, but made no effort to get to his feet.

Reeve nodded to the tech with him. “Open it. And give me the key to his collar.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”

Glaring at the tech, Reeve held out his hand. “These are people. We may not understand them, but we’re not going to treat them like test subjects. I’d rather establish trust than have these men view us with hostility every time we arrive. Now. The key.”

The tech gulped and handed over the key and then used a passcard to open the door. It beeped and slid open, and only then did Blue rise to his feet. Reeve took a bundle of clothing and smoothed out his jacket, gesturing for the tech and other aides to stay in the hall.

“He’s not an animal,” Reeve reminded them. “Close it behind me.”

“Sir, please…”

“You seem to have a hearing problem today. Should get that checked out,” Reeve snapped, stepping into the cell.

“Blue” did not back up, but squared his shoulders, raising his head and peering down his long nose at Reeve’s entrance. The simple, imperious posture told Reeve plenty - this man was used to respect, and hadn’t been getting it.

“My name is Reeve Tuesti. I am the director of the World Rejuvenation Organization, and overseer of this facility. Do you understand me?”

Blue blinked at him once, and cocked an eyebrow. Unmoving, and perhaps, uncomprehending, Blue just stared Reeve down. So, he tried again.

“Reeve Tuesti,” he said, placing a hand over his chest. He gestured to Blue, hoping that would prompt his name.

The other man looked Reeve up and down, glanced to the bundle of cloth in his hands, then shook his head. He tapped the collar on his throat and squinted, impatient.

“Ah, yes, right.” Reeve side-stepped carefully; Blue watched him with just his eyes, still as a statue otherwise. Reeve set the clothes down on the cot and held up the key.

“I’ll get this thing off you,” Reeve said, gesturing toward the collar.

Blue took a step backwards, not showing fear, but untrusting. Reeve didn’t blame him in the slightest. He held his hands out, with the key showing in his fingers.

“Gonna take…” he gestured toward Blue’s neck, “that off you. Okay?”

Blue stared daggers into him; Reeve thought that wherever this guy was from, he was probably used to cowing people with a look alone. However, Reeve had worked for Shin-Ra, where death glares were par for the course. He was immune to them.

When Reeve refused to back off, Blue spared the key a quick glance, then nodded his head once. Reeve took a deep breath and reached up, unlocking the silence collar and folding it up into his pocket.

“I’m sorry for-”

“Seymour Guado.”

Reeve’s eyebrows shot up with surprise at the deep, yet soft, voice. “I’m sorry?”

Blue looked at him as if he were an idiot, then gestured toward Reeve. “Reeve Tuesti?” He placed his long-fingered hand on his own chest. “Seymour Guado.”

Seymour’s accent on his name was strange, but at least Reeve could understand it. His voice was soft and lilting, trilling on the ‘R’ sound and harder on the teeth with the ‘ti’ at the end. He made it sound almost musical.

“Seymour Guado,” Reeve repeated. “Pleased to meet you.”

Blue - or, Seymour - nodded in approval, but still kept his distance. Pointing to the hall behind Reeve, he said another word.

“Auron.”

“Your friend’s name is Auron?”

Seymour cocked a brow and frowned, still trying to parse what Reeve was saying.

“Auron,” he just repeated.

“Do you… want to see him?” Reeve said, gesturing in what he hoped were appropriate moves to get his point across.

Seymour sighed and brushed past Reeve to the cell door, placing his hand on it and turning to look back.

“You want me to take you over there?”

Saying nothing, Seymour just glowered at him until Reeve decided that had to be the message. Crossing the room and squeezing into the space between Seymour and the door, Reeve knocked, signaling to the tech to let them out.

“Is Blue going to be a problem, sir?” asked the tech, looking over Reeve’s shoulder to Seymour.

Reeve smoothed out his coat as he moved into the hallway. “His name is Seymour Guado.” Seymour followed him out with a single stride, towering just behind Reeve. “He hasn’t done tried to attack me. He just wants to see his friend. You said Auron should be waking up soon, yes?”

“A-Auron?”

“Yes, Seymour told me that’s the name of the man in the other room. At least, he gestured and said that word. He seems eager to cross the hallway-”

“Sir…” Alpha Leader Mike stepped in to interject. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea…”

Reeve took a step up to Mike - another man taller than he - and gave him his best “I used to work for Shin-Ra, do not argue with me” stare down.

“Son, I’m going to have to ask you to trust me. You’re already stationed in the **coldest** part of the _Planet_. Should I submit your resume to Captain Highwind’s test program?”

Mike swallowed and shook his head. “N-no, no sir, that won’t be necessary.” Turning to the technician, Mike squeaked out “let them in.”

The tech pressed their keycard to the door and Seymour swept past them without further comment. Reeve thought he caught a brief smirk on Seymour’s face. Even though Seymour seemed to not understand the words, Reeve throwing his authority around seemed to amuse him either way. Another clue.

Reeve stood just inside the door as Seymour settled on the edge of the cot where Auron laid. Seymour graced his fingers over the restraints on Auron’s wrists before casting a withering glower toward Reeve.

“He attacked some of my men,” Reeve offered. Seymour’s previous amusement had faded. The expression he turned on Reeve then seemed to say he would take no excuses. Reeve felt himself at a loss.

 

Seymour looked away from the man calling himself Reeve and took a deep breath. Though they were enemies, whoever had them captured seemed to have no idea who either of them were. Or they knew exactly, and were prepared for it. That would have to make Seymour and Auron allies, whether or not the old guardian liked it.

He considered pulling apart the restraints, but without knowing how Auron would react, it was safer to leave him pinned for the time being. If Auron proved too angry to work with, Seymour had no one on his side. Their captors might even re-collar him.

“Sir Auron,” Seymour said, keeping his voice gentle. He ignored the group crowding the door behind him as he shook Auron’s shoulders. “I need your help.”

Auron groaned and opened his good eye. It rolled around in his head, slowly focusing until the dark amber fixed on Seymour’s face.

“Seymour?” Auron’s voice sounded dry and he licked his lips. “What have you done?”

“Why do you assume I had anything to do with this?”

Auron grunted and pulled at his restraints. “You usually do. Where are we?”

“I don’t know. No one speaks Spiran, or Guado or Al Bhed. If they do, they’re being obtuse on purpose.” Seymour reached across the cot and loosened Auron’s restraints. At least if he were collared again, Auron would be contained as well. He hoped that fact would seem like a good reason to ally with one another.

“The man in the door behind me calls himself Reeve Tuesti,” Seymour explained. “Other than that, I have no idea what he’s said to me. He’s offered clothes - but not _my_ clothes. I demanded to see you. We have been taken captive.”

Auron sat up as soon as his wrists were released and checked them over for chafing.

“When did you get here?” he asked, looking around the cell.

“Sometime before you did. My cell is across the hallway. They use strange Machina locks on their doors.” Seymour got to his feet and gave Auron space, smoothing the short gown over his legs.

“You’d think they would leave us some modicum of dignity,” Seymour muttered.

Auron scoffed and sat on the edge of his cot now, rubbing at his face. “That’s all they gave you, and even then, it’s not really deserved.”

“How dare you insinuate-”

“How dare I?!” Auron’s head whipped up and he followed onto his feet. “Everything that has gone wrong within Yevon and beyond has been _your fault_. I was at peace. I was with Jecht, and Yuna, and Br… Braska…” Auron swallowed the last word and turned away. “And now I’m here! With YOU!”

Seymour grabbed Auron by his arm and pulled him around again. “I was with my _mother,_ Auron! I was happy. I had no pain. I was _free_ , my mind was clear, and you have the **gall** to suggest I would compromise that? Just to be…” Seymour gestured with both arms to the room they were in. “Here? In some prison?!”

Before Auron could make another argument, the man called Reeve approached, introducing himself to Auron. Reeve scrubbed at his arms and hissed through his teeth, imitating water - like washing himself.

Auron’s lip curled and he glanced toward Seymour.

“What kind of-”

“He doesn’t seem capable of speaking any Spiran language, so he’s resorted to gesturing like a toddler,” Seymour replied, his voice flat and tired.

Auron snorted and shook his head. “So, we’re in a strange place, alive, and unable to talk to anyone but each other?” Seymour hummed in response and Auron ran his hands over his face. “Fine. The enemy of my enemy. At least we can get clean.”

 

In the showers, there was no privacy - not that privacy and Auron were all that familiar with each other. He was just glad he didn’t have to bathe in a river and potentially fight with fiends while naked. Seymour was the one who looked put out by the lack of a bath tub and servants to bathe him.

Served him right - Seymour had no power where they were, and by Auron’s reasoning, didn’t deserve the pampering he was used to.

Scrubbing up under hot water was a nice touch, though. It gave Auron a chance to clear his head and chase away the last of the chill he had caught on the mountain before it sunk too deeply into his skin. It helped ease old aches that had slowed him even as an Unsent; the strain in his shoulder from carrying around his large katana, the stiffness in his back from laying on the cot for hours. It made him feel old, but strangely alive, the pain. It was unlike the agony of being half-dead. The throbbing, gentle ache told him his heart was beating; the warm flush to his skin telling Auron that blood coursed through his veins again. He leaned against the shower wall and let the hot water roll down his back. He might have groaned in appreciation as sore muscles relaxed.

Seymour kept casting furtive glances his way; Auron chose to ignore him and get on with getting clean. Whatever alliance Seymour was hoping to garner in the relative safety of the showers - where they were alone - was going to wait. A small, petty part of Auron was pleased with himself for leaving Seymour hanging.

Once they were relatively dry and dressed, Reeve led the pair of them to what seemed to be a mess hall, and offered them a meal. It didn’t seem like they were going to be treated like prisoners after all. At least, not the way Seymour was assuming.

Auron took a seat away from the other people in their company, unsurprised that Seymour chose to follow since he had no one else to bother.

“Sir Auron, I have been trying to start conversation with you for an hour.”

“And I have been trying to ignore you for an hour,” said Auron. He spooned some sort of vegetable into his mouth, then flinched. Whatever they had done to prepare the food was terrible - edible, but awful tasting. And he’d eaten Jecht’s cooking.

Seymour didn’t look any more eager to try his own food.

“Sir Auron-”

“You keep calling me that and I’m going to walk away. We’re not in Spira, clearly. There’s no titles here, no monikers. No one knows who we are. Drop the pretense,” Auron snapped.

Looking tense but humbled by the truth, Seymour nodded once. “Very well. We are stuck here, wherever here is. There are strange people who have taken us in, clothed and fed us. We don’t speak their language. Yet…” Seymour paused, poking a suspicious looking bit of meat with a fork. “We are here. Together. Should we not be friends?”

“No.” Auron bowed his head and focused on his dinner. He didn’t want Seymour to try that “deceptively earnest” voice and expression with him. He was tired of it when he was a warrior monk. The last thing he needed was to see it on an enemy trying to be his friend.

“And what will we do if they decide to sell us off? Do we simply let them send us wherever they like, into the custody of whomever they please?”

Putting his fork down, Auron sat back and gave Seymour a stern look.

“You’re a powerful magician and summoner. Make it work for you.”

Seymour turned his head and glanced toward the table where Reeve sat, conversing jovially with some of his subordinates.

“They collared me, Auron, like a hound.”

“What?”

Snapping his gaze back to Auron, Seymour repeated himself.

“They collared me,” Seymour reminded him, “ _Suppressed_ my magic? I think this facility blocks connection to the Fayth as well. I can’t reach-”

“The Aeons were destroyed with Sin,” Auron interrupted. “Yuna sent them all when the beast was finally slain. I remember that.”

Seymour paused, his mouth dropped open. “Then my mother really was with me…” he whispered. “I want to go back. I don’t want to be here.”

“Neither do I. But, I can be patient and find out why we’re here and how to return. Can you?”

Seymour poked at his food again, testing a mouthful and cringing. “I suppose I can. What do you propose we do?”

“ _We_ aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to wait.” Auron shook his head and finished off his meal and the weak tea they served from silver tanks. Veering away from subjects of despair, Auron sat back again and stretched his arms, feeling energy return to him with food in his belly and a long sleep behind him.

“You should keep your hair back like that more often,” Auron mused, drawing a confused look from Seymour. “The regular style made you look like a desert roach.”

Seymour left the table and his food behind, stalking away from the mess hall. Auron smirked to himself as he cleared both trays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you hadn't noticed, the chapters are really uneven, mostly because this has all been typed into one document as I go instead of separate chapters. So some will be longer than others.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeve looks into the mysterious men who showed up at the Northern Crater (and he kind of ships it)

_ Some time later… _

“Thanks for getting back to me Nanaki.” Reeve sat at a desk in the WRO base with a laptop opened to the video chat. Nanaki sat on the other side, with a human companion from the village working the computer on his end. “So, what does that sound like, to you?”

“Well…” The great cat flicked his flame-like tail near his nose in thought. “I looked into the names you gave me, as well as that video clip you sent over. It took some research through Grandfather’s scrolls, but it seems like a form of pre-Gaean Common.”

“Pre-Gaean? There wasn’t a-” Reeve fidgeted with his tie. He didn’t really know the Planet’s history  _ that _ far back. “I mean, they can’t possibly be that old, can they?”

“You said the one called himself ‘Seymour Guado,’ yes? Guado is an old term that translates very similarly to ‘Cetra’ in Gaean Common. A race of elder beings that lived side by side with humans in ancient Gaean times.” 

Reeve was stunned. Nanaki was telling him that their language seemed  _ prehistoric.  _ That wasn’t possible, was it? That Seymour himself was… related to the Cetra? That seemed even more incredible.

“Reeve, I can hear you thinking.” Nanaki’s voice interrupted Reeve’s racing thoughts. Reeve muttered an apology and Nanaki just flicked his tail in dismissal. “I was just saying that the language sounds close to something Grandfather’s great-great aunt documented, a language called ‘Spiran.’ It’s an ancient, dead language, but many of the roots form Gaea Common.”

Nanaki used a paw to get the attention of the girl sitting beside him. “Play that clip for me, would you?”

“Of course, Elder!” she said, cheerful and leaning into Reeve’s line of sight.

“Cynthia here helped me transfer this old recording tape of Bugenhagen’s into a digital file - it was his aunt trying to speak Spiran from the translated texts her grandmother found.”

A few lines of audio warbled through the audio connection. Reeve leaned in and listened closely. It sounded similar to recordings he had made of Auron and Seymour’s conversations. Rather, their constant arguments. Reeve had assumed they were friends, given Seymour’s insistence on speaking to Auron, but since day one, Auron had gone out of his way to avoid Seymour. And neither of them were really cooperating with medical staff or anything. The first two weeks had been one ongoing headache for Reeve, as he struggled to figure out their language and how to communicate.

Reeve sat back in his seat, bridging the tips of his fingers. “That’s amazing… you know, if they really do speak Spiran, we could ask them to record it for educational purposes… if we can figure out  _ how _ to ask them.”

Nanaki chuckled. “Ever the philanthropist, my friend. I will do what I can to get you Grandfather’s studies on the language. Perhaps you can contact Vincent. He has been learning about the Planet’s history. The names might mean more to him.”

“I’ll do that. I’m sure he’d love to-”

Just as Reeve wound down the conversation, one of the technicians ran into the office. “Mr. Tuesti, I’m afraid we have a situation in the gym!”

“Damn, okay. Sorry, Nanaki - give my love to the family.” Reeve reached over to disconnect, just as Nanaki promised to fill Reeve’s request.

“Okay, explain,” Reeve said, getting to his feet.

“It seems like Seymour and Auron’s tension has reached a head. I don’t know who picked the fight but, well…” The tech led Reeve through the halls toward the employee gym. It was a small part of the facility, meant to keep the staff healthy and active during the harsher months when going outside was a death sentence.

When Reeve arrived, it looked like a war zone. A Fire spell had left a gray scorch mark from floor to ceiling. The light fixture above had blown out and dangled from a wire. Auron was being held back by three of the field agents, but just barely.

Seymour had been corralled into a corner, his back to everyone else, shoulders hunched. It looked like he was sulking. One of the nurses was murmuring to him in a low tone; Reeve guessed the tech’s assumption was correct.

Folding his hands like a prayer, Reeve brought them to his lips and took a deep breath.

“Did anyone catch what happened here?”

One of the Beta Team, a rookie named Jimi, raised his hand.

“Yeah, I think, uh… Seymour? Over there, he said something kinda clipped to Auron, Auron said something snappy back. Seymour said ‘something-something  _ Braska’  _ and Auron flipped his shit. I’m guessing he called Seymour some kind of name because the next thing I see, there’s a huge fireball flying across the gym!” Jimi saluted nervously, then dropped his hand. “Uh, sir.”

“No need for that, but, thank you, Jimi.” Turning around, Reeve closed his eyes, thinking back to the tensions Cait had to settle with the gang. The idea was dumb, but possible. If it didn’t work the first time, he’d  _ make _ it work, somehow.

“Give me the room,” he said, dropping his hands.

The team murmured to themselves and tried to argue, but Reeve shooed them away. Even the nurse who had helped Seymour gave him a hasty goodbye and retreated with her peers.

“Okay.” Reeve unbuttoned his coat and put his hands on his hips. Auron had taken a seat on the weight bench, not looking at either Reeve or Seymour. Seymour remained in his corner.

“Seymour, could you please come over here?” Reeve asked. He had hoped at least hearing his name would get the point across. Seymour ignored him. Not to take the slight to heart, Reeve crossed over and took Seymour by the wrist.

Turning to glare at him, Reeve could see Seymour’s eyes were red and puffy.

_ “Good to know he has feelings to hurt…” _ Reeve thought. Seymour’s otherwise snobbish attitude had been off-putting to most of the staff. Reeve had just felt like he was babysitting Rufus.

“C’mon. You’re not going to pout over here in the corner all day.” Reeve managed to coax him out with a little tug of his wrist and got him to sit on the weight bench beside Auron. Auron scooted himself a good six inches to his left until he was pressed against the weight bar and looked away from Seymour.

Reeve looked skyward and prayed for strength. He took off his jacket and dropped it on the floor.

“You know, the pair of you have really been testing my patience.” He unbuttoned a shirt sleeve and began to fold it over into a cuff near his elbow. “I have been trying to communicate with you, and have the two of you communicate with each other, like I thought Seymour wanted.”

Seymour thumbed at his nose. Whatever he thought Reeve was saying, Reeve didn’t particularly care. His tone should have suggested well enough that he was scolding them.

“I’ve put my neck out for you two, trying to convince my team that you’re not dangerous.” Reeve rolled up the other sleeve and began to loosen his tie.

“And you two are doing everything in your power to prove me wrong. You snap and yell at each other. Auron, you can lift an impressive amount of weight and fought off every medical aid who has tried to give you an exam.” Reeve pointed at Seymour. “You nearly blew a hole in the wall. I really don’t want to have you restrained. That’s not in the policy of the WRO, and it’s not my personal philosophy, either.”

Reeve crossed the room to a stool and scooped it up, bringing it over to sit in front of them. Before taking his seat, he grabbed each of their hands and brought them together.

“Talk, or apologize, but do it fast or we’re not leaving,” he said.

Naturally, Auron and Seymour pulled their hands from each other.

“Nope, we’re not doing this.” Reeve took Auron’s jaw and made him look up. “Talk,” he said. “Say you’re sorry.”

Auron looked Reeve right in the eye and growled “No” as plain as day.

Reeve blinked and let Auron go.

“Have you been able to understand me this whole time?”

Auron smirked and tilted his head. “No,” he replied, almost singsong.

Seymour snorted and hid his face.

“Oh, you’re just having a laugh at my expense.” Reeve took a seat on the stool. “Well, since you seem to have ‘No,’ down, let’s see if I can get you to understand ‘talk.’” He gestured from Auron to Seymour. “Now.”

 

Auron turned away from Reeve’s patient gaze, seating himself so his blind eye was to their host. He could tell Tuesti was fishing for a resolution to their fight. Taking a deep breath, Auron pushed closer to Seymour; Seymour pretended he didn’t see the former guardian closing in.

“Look, Seymour-”

“Oh, so you  _ do _ know my name? For a while, you seemed to assume it was ‘Go away.’” Seymour’s jaw tightened, his whole posture tight and defensive. He did not look at Auron, instead staring ahead and across the room.

Taking a steady breath, Auron put a hand on Seymour’s elbow. Seymour glanced down at the contact from the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry I’ve been hostile. This place might not be a prison, but it  _ feels _ like it. I was trained to accept monotony and obedience as a norm, but at least the monks had a  _ purpose. _ We’re sitting around waiting, but for what?” Auron said. When Seymour did not respond, he pressed further. “You can’t tell me you’re not losing your mind a little.”

Seymour’s lips parted with a quick swipe of his tongue before he spoke. “It is rather boring. Worse when the only person you  _ can _ talk to  _ won’t.” _

Auron nodded. “I concede your point. You were right. We’re the only ones here from Spira. We’re all we have.”

Seymour shrugged off Auron’s hand and turned to him. A smile crawled across his lips; Auron regretted agreeing with the former Maester.

“You said I was  _ right.” _

“Can I take it back?” Auron tried, leaning away as Seymour leaned in.

“You wanted to blame me for our predicament and it took you weeks to realize I was innocent all along!” He thrust his index finger at Auron’s face. “Say it!”

Auron glanced over the bridge of his nose at Reeve. He looked thoroughly interested in their conversation, though he still seemed completely unaware of just what was going on. Turning his attention back to Seymour, Auron steeled himself for the next course of action that came to mind. It might get Reeve and his men to stop watching them so closely, if he believed it.

“You… were innocent all along,” Auron said. He took Seymour’s hand and pressed the back to his damaged cheek. His good eye stayed open, watching as he prayed Seymour would catch onto the ruse. “I’m sorry.”

For his part, Seymour let out a convincing gasp at the contact. Stunned out of words for but a second, Seymour locked his gaze with Auron’s. A few moments passed when a flicker of recognition passed over Seymour’s face and he nodded.

Relieved that Seymour picked up on his hint, Auron leaned back and opened his arms, hoping he didn’t appear as tense as he felt. Seymour wasted no time in thrusting himself into an embrace, nearly knocking Auron into the weight bar.

“Are you crying?” Auron whispered, tucking his face into Seymour’s neck to hide his embarrassment.

Seymour crooned in reply, almost smug. “He’s eating it up. He’ll think we’ve kissed and made up and perhaps we will be given time  _ alone _ … so we can plan an escape.”

Auron rumbled in his chest. Seymour held onto him for far longer than necessary, but if Reeve was buying it, he might have a point.

“How are you so good at faking affection?” Auron asked, gently prying Seymour off. He schooled his face into something he hoped seemed sympathetic. Chancing a glance toward Reeve, he saw the director’s hands folded in front of his face, just barely covering an eager smile. “ _ He’s buying it… _ ” Auron thought, barely hiding his surprise.

“I had to do it for my father for years,” Seymour replied, the shy smile he was wearing not matching the words he was saying. Seymour held onto both of Auron’s hands now, caressing soft thumbs over his rough knuckles. “I’m a master of lies.”

Auron nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

 

Reeve sniffed and surreptitiously thumbed the corner of his eye. Auron and Seymour had made nice, and perhaps there was more brewing under the surface. He felt accomplished. No negotiator had ever pulled off something like  _ that, _ he was positive.

Sliding off his chair, Reeve picked up his jacket. He put away the stool and gave them a wide berth. He smiled to himself as Seymour reached out, took Auron’s ponytail in his fingers and cooed something that convinced Reeve that what he was seeing had to be true. Especially because Auron’s usually-stony expression turned deep red with Seymour’s fond crooning.

Kicking up his steps into double time, Reeve escaped the gym room and let the pair finish “making up.”

As he got close to his makeshift office, Reeve’s phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he was pleasantly surprised to see Vincent’s name highlighted on screen. He smiled as he clicked the answer button.

“Vincent! Hello!”

_ “Nanaki said you needed my help?” _

Reeve chuckled. “Right to the point, as always. Yeah, I have an interesting case on my hands here in the Northern Crater region…”

_ “Nanaki said you found people on the mountain, speaking a dead language. Has anyone else appeared since then?” _

“No, but that’s kind of a relief. I’ve had teams sweeping the area every day, looking for anyone else, but since no other anomalies have happened… we’re just going with these two being the only ones who… arrived.” Reeve nudged his office door open with his foot, grimacing as the signal seemed to break up. Vincent sounded like an echo.

_ “I’ve been doing research into those names you gave me-” _

“Vincent, hang on, you’re---” Reeve looked from from his phone and nearly dropped it. “Sitting at my desk.” Hanging up his phone, he pocketed it and sat across from Vincent, who had stolen Reeve’s chair. His feet were propped up on the corner of the desk, showing off his absurdly long legs.

“I thought expediency was important,” Vincent responded, tipping Reeve’s seat back, making it rock on its rear wheels.

Reeve rubbed at his forehead and chortled. “Did Cid just… drop you off again?”

“Of course not. I disembarked without warning him. I know he disapproves, but I didn’t want to wait for him to find a parking spot.” A faint smile played on Vincent’s lips as he eased himself forward.

Producing a thick, leather-bound book from the depths of his cloak, Vincent pulled himself closer and split the book open where he had bookmarked a particular passage. Reeve leaned in as well, following Vincent’s guidance over the page.

“Vincent, is this Middle-Gaean?”

“It is.”

“I can barely read it.”

“I learned to transcribe it under Hojo.”

Reeve sat up again, his face paling a little. “This was Hojo’s?”

“This copy is not, but it is a fantastic reproduction. Part of a restoration project of old manuscripts from across the Planet.” Vincent turned a page over to a plate pressed image of a great beast with fins and eyes adorning its body. It was crude, but no less intimidating to look at. The illustration reminded Reeve of the Weapons.

“There exists a myth that, at a time of great darkness, there once came an Unholy Scourge to the Planet. Great cities and creations of the world before ours were destroyed. According to the legend, this Scourge came from ‘beyond mortal comprehension’ to punish the impure and prideful for wars waged in the name of greed.” Vincent turned over a few more pages of text. A photo of a painting from some five-hundred years before was printed there, titled “The Holy One,” with no known artist credited. It looked to be a wispy image of a young woman with her hands folded together in prayer around a staff. That the image reminded him of Aerith could not have been coincidental.+

“According to this particular version of the myth, a man tried to claim this Scourge for himself, but a young woman of pure spirit and her guardians defeated him and destroyed the Scourge.” Vincent closed the book and pushed it across the table to Reeve, who took it into his lap.

Examining the illustrations, Reeve leaned back with the book, flipping through the old-looking pages. “You said this has something to do with the gentlemen we found?”

“I did.” Vincent folded his arms over his chest. “There are translations that say the man who tried to claim the Scourge - or, maybe we could call it a Calamity - for himself was named Seymour Guado.”

Reeve started in his seat, dropping the book. The page he was on sliced his finger and he hissed in pain. Sticking his finger in his mouth, Reeve spoke around the digit.

“Sho… dhis Sheeymour hash de same name?”

Vincent tutted and searched Reeve’s desk, locating the small first aid kit and passing it over to him.

“Don’t lick your wounds. It’s unsanitary,” he scolded.

Reeve stuck his tongue out and fished out a bandage while trying to keep the injured finger out of the way.

“So, the Seymour we found has the same name. At least his surname is… wait…” Reeve paused to pull apart a bandage wrapper with his teeth. “I thought Nanaki said ‘Guado’ was the name of a race.”

“It is.”

Frowning, Reeve stuck the tip of his tongue out in concentration as he cleaned and wrapped his finger.

“My name isn’t ‘Reeve Human.’ Maybe it’s tribal.”

Vincent chuckled and leaned back in Reeve’s seat again.

“Perhaps, but I did some digging. It seems mention of the Guado ends some two hundred years after the close of the myth. Perhaps they died out, or their tribe merged with another and took on their titles,” Vincent suggested. He bridged his hands together in thought, closing his eyes.

“Cid has finally decided to join us,” Vincent said after a moment, just as Reeve heard boots clomping up the metal hallway. Cid kicked in Reeve’s office door, his jacket and hair still dusted with droplets of snow from traversing outside.

“VINCENT VALENTINE! YOU SCARED TH’ DEVIL OUTTA ME YOU BASTARD!”

“I said I could go on ahead of you,” Vincent replied, calm and unperturbed by Cid’s yelling. His eyes opened with a flash of red light.

“You jumped out of my ship! I’ve told you too many times to not do that! I don’t care if you CAN fly!” Cid shouted again, leaning on the desk into Vincent’s face, challenging him.

Vincent’s lips quirked into a light smile once more. Reeve got out of his seat at the sight, too familiar with what it meant between the pair. Unplugging his laptop and collecting it with his coffee mug and the book Vincent had brought him, Reeve slipped out the door of his office as Cid’s shouting behind him died down. Reeve caught the sounds of his desk being dramatically swept clean, followed by a plaintive moan from Vincent.

“They’re paying to have my office cleaned this time…” Reeve muttered, heading off to the mess hall to work in relative quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auron and Seymour are going stir crazy. Luckily, there's a big nasty dragon to shake things up. Then, they get a little vulnerable.

A month.

They were verging on being stuck in this one place for a month now. Reeve had gone and returned during the last ten days. His friends, Cid and Vincent, had made themselves known, but seemed less interested in hounding them for information and left Seymour and Auron to their devices, for the most part.

However, they had been introduced to a new problem. Reeve had taken it upon himself to re-home the pair of them into a singular room, rather than their cells. Which would have been fine if Reeve’s assumption was that they just wanted to share company.

They ended up with a singular bed, just big enough for two.

“Apparently, our ‘closeness’ has bred a need for Reeve to push our faux-romance to a new level,” said Seymour. He settled onto the edge of the bed and bounced once, testing the mattress. “I was with your little charade until this point. This is going to get difficult.”

Auron folded his arms and stood over Seymour, running his thumb over his chin.

“I can take the floor,” he said after a moment. “I’m used to it.” He turned toward the small closet in the wall and opened it. There were their clothes - Auron’s heavy coat and Seymour’s robe, hanging side by side.

“At least they sought to give us our things back. I was growing tired of…” Seymour picked at the hem of his tee-shirt. “This.”

Auron leaned in and dug out his old clothing, carrying it over to the bed. Dropping it beside Seymour, he stripped off the long-sleeve he’d been given, causing Seymour to jump in surprise.

“I didn’t think you’d change right in front of me,” Seymour gasped, getting to his feet. Warmth flooded his cheeks for a moment when he caught sight of Auron’s worst scar. His mind shifted gears and he reached out, just grazing the injury at Auron’s shoulder when Auron jumped away from him.

“Hey - we’re alone here,” Auron warned. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“I just… My apologies.” Seymour took a step away and put his hands behind his back. “I had glimpsed it once before, but not so close.”

Auron looked like he wanted to believe Seymour’s sincere tone, but turned away to pull his heavy, armored shirt on instead.

“Learn to ask,” he growled.

“Of course. I’ll leave you to your dressing,” Seymour said, sweeping out of the room before he embarrassed himself again.

Out in the hall, Seymour laid a hand over his heart. It was beating rapidly, and ached a bit with Auron snapping at him like that. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

_“Fool. Do not think that you can simply touch someone as if they belong to you. This is all a game until we’re free. When we’re free, you can leave. Neither of you will owe the other anything.”_

Seymour nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice from the proximity of his knees piped up, in thickly accented Spiran.

“Hello up there!”

Shaken from his self-scolding, Seymour looked down with a bewildered stare. A doll, roughly the size of a toddler, grinned up at him with a cartoonishly wide mouth. It reminded him of the dolls some Black Mages used to focus their magic, but bigger. And this one could walk. It took the gilded crown from its head and bowed gallantly, flaring out a little red cape on its back.

“Pleased to meet you. Am I coming through clearly?” it asked, righting itself and placing the crown between large, triangular ears. “Helloooooo?”

“H-hello.”

“Wonderful! I am glad this program is working!” said the doll. It tapped the side of its head and then gave a twirl. “My name is Cait Sith. I’m a creation of Mr. Reeve Tuesti’s. I believe the word for you would be ‘Machina?’ I am like a Machina, made to learn and translate your language.”

“You understand Spiran?” Seymour blurted out, feeling sweat start to bead at his temples. If they were understood, they could no longer talk about their plans to break out. So far, they had discussed swiping key cards from the working staff, and perhaps weapons, if available. They’d have to find more ways to stay private if this… Cait Sith… was going to be able to listen in.

“I’m always looking to learn! How’s my accent?”

Seymour blinked a few times when he realized the thing had asked him a question. “You sound rough… very rudimentary. Like an Al Bhed child mimicking the words it hears.”

Cait Sith scratched its head and slumped forward.

“I was afraid of that. I am trying - you still get what I’m saying, so I count that as a win! If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to document conversations with you and Mr. Auron-”

“NO!” Seymour crouched down, taking the doll by the shoulders. “My time with Auron is private. If you want to learn our language, you can talk _to_ us, but I won’t have you eavesdropping. Would Mr. Tuesti like it if you were spying on him and a romantic partner?”

Cait Sith frowned and tipped its head from one side to the other. From within, Seymour could detect a faint whirring as it processed the idea.

“I’ll have to talk it over with the boss, but I think that can be arranged. Mr. Tuesti would love to learn Spiran. It seems you and Mr. Auron are part of Gaea’s grand history! He’d love to set the record straight on a few things, if you prove to be the real deal, of course!”

“I…” It was Seymour’s turn to frown. He had guessed that they had ended up in another _world_ , but was this one really part of Spira as he had known it? How far forward had they gone?

“O-of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am headed inside.” He gently nudged Cait Sith toward the end of the corridor, away from their door. “Auron and I can talk to you later.”

Giving a salute with a thick, white-gloved hand, Cait Sith bounded down the hall and out of sight. Seymour waited until the doll was gone before he burst back into the room and leaned against the door.

Auron looked up from tying his boots. He was nearly finished, but Seymour ignored his grimace in favor of the situation.

“We have a problem, Auron.”

 

Auron sat in meditation later that evening. Back in his warrior monk clothing, he felt more like himself. He went over the plans he and Seymour had been concocting: steal key cards to the doors, find a transport, steal it and weapons and escape. Head… somewhere, and part ways. Find a way back to the Farplane if they could not be Sent properly. Or live, somehow…

But now, a Machina wanted to learn their language. If it learned enough, any overheard conversation could be reported back to Tuesti.

Why weren’t they just being let go? So far, the reasoning had to do with **history** , but Auron didn’t believe for a moment that was all there was. Something else was keeping them there, and Reeve Tuesti was at the helm of it.

Trying to shake away the anger, Auron tried to focus on more pleasant things. Watching Yuna destroy Sin. Helping Tidus shape himself into a hero. Jecht’s drunken shenanigans. Braska…

Auron bit his bottom lip and took a deep breath. Breaking his posture, Auron touched his shoulder and shuddered. Seymour had just laid a hand on him without thinking, without _asking,_ and what was the worst was Auron wanted it again. Ten years as an Unsent had left him feeling no pleasure, only pain or abstract numbness. Somehow, in this new place, he had managed to avoid casual contact with others until that afternoon, when Seymour’s fingers had just barely grazed his skin.

“I’m a mess,” Auron grumbled to the supply storage room he had cloistered himself in. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his face, then slapped one cheek, trying to sort his thoughts out.

 _“C’mon, Auron! What’s a little group hug between friends?”_ Jecht had said. _“Or are you afraid us filthy guardians are gonna ruin the pristine robes of our Great Summoner?”_

Braska’s laughter filled Auron’s mind and seized his heart. _“Auron’s not exactly a hugger, Jecht. Warrior monks aren’t usually so friendly.”_

 _“I can be friendly. I just don’t want to hug_ **_Jecht_ ** , _”_ Auron had replied, hoping neither of them knew why he was blushing at the idea. In reality, he had wanted to hold Braska very close, keep him safe from the world, from Sin, from his own mourning. But, Auron knew he would never be able to hold a candle to Braska’s late wife. And he had kept that fact to himself forever. Even seeing him again in the Farplane, Auron was at least happy that Braska found peace. With his wife and daughter.

“What would you say to me now?” Auron thought, slumping back against a cold, steel wall. “You’d tell me to move on, that it was okay if I let you go,” he muttered to the mop bucket beside him. “You were never easy to let go, Braska…”

Auron got to his feet and pulled his coat over his shoulders.

“I miss you…” Auron sighed and headed out into the hallway, wondering how he was going to keep up the facade of caring for Seymour. They were getting along fine for _now_ , but Auron knew it couldn’t last. Not after the fight they had.

_“I am trying to help you, Auron!”_

_“What makes you think I need your help, Seymour? You’ve given me no reason to ever trust you, you hurt people I cared about, people I loved.”_

_“Love is just a tool. Even Braska used it against you.”_

_“Your lack of understanding love is why even your_ mother _turned against you!”_

Auron scratched at his neck, recalling the heat from the Fira spell Seymour had flung at his head. His training had kept him from taking the blast to the face with a swift dodge, but the gym was still being repainted where Seymour had scorched the wall.

Being trapped in that facility was making him testy. Not being allowed to leave wore on him, and he had lost his temper. A mistake he still regretted making, even though Seymour had not called on him for an apology - yet. Auron knew better, though. Seymour was the master of holding hidden grudges, as Maester Jyscal had learned the hard way.

Just as he rounded the corner to the hallway he and Seymour were staying in, he nearly tripped over that Cait Sith thing Seymour had warned him about. The puppet bounced back on its furry feet and looked up at Auron.

“There you are, lad! Mr. Seymour said you were off meditating. I was just coming to find you.”

Auron grimaced behind his high collar and sighed. “What did you need me for?”

Just as he asked, an alarm sounded overhead.

“Just that,” said Cait Sith. “There seems to be a bit of a safety issue right now. Big monster outside, verging on attacking this place. Not many of the folks here are fighters-”

“Do you have a sword?”

“What kind?”

“Biggest you’ve got.”

“Follow me, then. Seymour’s already outside - we granted him back his staff since he seems to be a magic user…”

 

Auron did his best to hide his awe at the stockpile of weapons in storage. Cait Sith had its own means to unlock the storage cell, but now at least now Auron knew where it was. Reaching for the biggest blade, Cait piped up from the region of Auron’s shins.

“You sure you can handle a Buster Sword, yes? That’s not something wielded easily by regular folk.”

Slinging it over his shoulder, Auron smirked and brushed past Cait Sith.

“It’ll do.”

Cait Sith scrambled to follow after Auron, leading the way outside.

Seymour already stood nearby, assembled beside a quivering line of techs, mixed with guard, all armed with guns. Dressed completely in his robes again, Auron was overwhelmed with a feeling of deja vu.

“This feels familiar,” he said, striding up beside Seymour.

“At least this time, you know it’s not my doing.”

“You don’t have Lady Yuna here to seduce.”

Seymour caught Auron off-guard with a broad smile and an arched brow.

“Who said I was trying to seduce _Yuna_ back then?” Seymour marched forward, despite protests of the armed guards. Auron stomped off after him, hoping the burning in his face could be explained by the frigid air.

“Did they explain what it is we’re looking at?” Auron asked.

“Cait Sith said it’s a dragon.”

Frowning, Auron pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Surely, not like the guardian wyrm?”

“I caught a glimpse of it. They’re fatter, more muscle. Probably just as many teeth.”

“Any reason they’re trusting us to help?” Auron asked.

Seymour shrugged. “Perhaps testing us, seeing if I’m as bad as Reeve seems to think I am.”

“You _are_ as bad as he thinks you are.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been a perfectly good boy these last few weeks. Even _you_ tolerate me.”

Auron bit the inside of his cheek, remembering that he should apologize, still. _“After the fight,”_ he promised himself.

“There it is,” Seymour said, though it was unnecessary. Ahead of them, just near a valley path, was a dragon. Black as pitch against the blue moonlight, the dragon reared back its head and blew out a long line of fire.

A shield of magic sprang to life just before Auron’s eyes, dampening the heat blast before it could reach him. It still knocked him back a few feet, but at least he was still upright.

“You’re welcome,” Seymour said, casting out another spell - Blizzaga - and coating the creature in ice. The dragon shuddered and threw off the shards just as easily as it would common snow.

“It’s probably resistant because of where it lives,” Auron observed. Charging forward, Auron summoned his internal strength to strike hard, breaking through the dragon’s thick scales. The dragon roared and turned its attention toward Auron, while Seymour tried a Thundaga spell. The electric shock exploded and skittered over the dragon’s scales with little sign of wear.

“Break its mind! It still resists me!” Seymour shouted as the dragon turned its attention back to him.

Swinging for the head, Auron struck out, only to have the dragon’s tail send him flying back in Seymour’s direction. He stuck his sword in the ground to catch himself and skidded to a stop. A line of broken rock and thrown snow highlighted his path backwards.

“It’s good at defending both sides,” Auron huffed, getting to his feet.

“Then we shall take it head on,” Seymour replied. He cast a Cure spell over Auron’s body and stepped forward, bringing up a Waterga spell. As he did, the dragon reared back, and inhaled deeply. A burst of purple flame and lightning spread from the beast’s mouth, melting snow past liquid form and into steam that billowed into the night air.

Time seemed to slow as Seymour found himself bowled over, not by the dragon, but Auron tackling him to the ground. Unholy flames licked all around his body, dampened by the Protect spell Auron had cast before it fizzled out as Auron hit the ground.

Seymour pushed at Auron’s body, trying to shake him awake.

“Come now, Auron, you’re stronger than that.”

When all that came out of Auron were shallow breaths, Seymour felt rage burning inside him. Without thinking of himself, Auron had taken a blow for him when he could have just as easily let Seymour die again.

The dragon pawed the ground, setting itself up for another attack. The creature’s wings spread out in a threat display, and its tail lashed the snow and mud behind it.

Getting to his feet, Seymour felt the Farplane called to his fingers, the surge of energy he rarely tapped. The power felt different, somehow; it was bubbling and alive and _screaming_ as he drew up the energy into a black ball that surrounded the dragon, exploding on all sides of the beast.

When the dust cleared, the dragon laid on the ground, wounded, bleeding. One wing was shorn off completely while the other hung limp at its side. It heaved shallow breaths and struggled to move its forelegs under it.

Cait Sith skidded into view, riding the back of a giant, pink blob of a creature.

“What the devil was that!?”

Seymour dropped to his knees, ignoring Cait and the guards as they put the dying dragon out of its misery. Turning in the snow, Seymour laid a hand on Auron’s face.

“Why?” he whispered, casting another, greater healing spell.

Auron groaned and coughed, his eye rolling a bit as he came to.

“Did you kill it or are we dead again?”

Seymour withdrew his hand and helped Auron sit up.

“It’s dead now,” Seymour said.

Auron groaned and got to his feet, brushing snow off his pants. He looked over the dead dragon corpse and the techs who descended on it, collecting samples.

“That was… a short fight,” Auron muttered, swaying on his feet.

Seymour swept an arm across Auron’s back and held him up. “You took a blow for me, when you could have let me get hurt. I simply… reacted.”

Auron let Seymour hold him up, though he was not that dizzy. He still ached, and the need for someone’s touch overrode his repulsion from Seymour. Leaning into the hold, Auron shouldered his borrowed sword and let Seymour take the lead.

“I need to apologize,” Auron said, spitting it out before they got too far and distracted by the guards. “For what I said earlier… about your mother. I hurt you-”

“People have said far worse to me-”

“But it was uncalled for. It was my mistake, I just lashed out. Even if we’re enemies, that was unnecessarily cruel.”

“Auron-”

“Seymour, please.” Pulling away from Seymour and standing in front of him. “I mean it. I am truly sorry. I lost my temper, and said something that hurt you. You can’t pretend I didn’t see you crying.”

Seymour turned his head and watched a few of the guards escort back some shivering techs before answering.

“You know, I’m a fantastic liar.”

“There’s only so much even you can lie about. Your mother is one of them.”

Seymour sighed, his breath rolling out in a thick cloud.

“I apologize for what I said of Lord Braska,” he answered, casting his eyes downward. “It certainly answers why you refused the High Priest’s daughter.”

Auron huffed and shook his head. “Glad I could finish the puzzle for you.” He turned and started to hike back to their temporary home without Seymour.

“Wait.” Seymour scooped his fallen staff from the snow and gave chase to Auron. “I mean that… I see now why you became an Unsent. You loved Lord Braska, and his death was too painful for you.”

“Seymour, I’m warning you,” Auron growled. He felt a weight sinking in his stomach. He had not told anyone, but he had armed Seymour with enough knowledge to figure it out on his own. Another mistake.

“I know what it’s like to have someone you love insist they die for a greater cause.” Seymour pressed his shoulder to Auron’s as he caught up, striding side by side. “It hurts because they were the source of your hope, and then they’re gone.”

Auron swallowed and tucked his face down into his collar. “Yes.”

 

Back in the safety of the facility, Auron took off for their shared room, intent on keeping the Buster Sword he borrowed. If they were going to break out soon, he would need it. Leaving the door open behind him, Auron shrugged out of his damp coat and undershirt.

Seymour followed Auron into the room and shut the door. Chuckling, Seymour leaned his staff near their shared closet.

“You have no qualms about being seen undressed.”

Auron glanced over his shoulder.

“Says the man who never wears a shirt.”

Seymour unwound his heavy belts and folded them neatly, letting the robe hang loose around his shoulders.

“How else would I display my markings?” Seymour replied, pushing back the collar of his robe to further expose his tattoos. “And look so inviting to hungry eyes?” His own gaze met with Auron’s, forcing the ex-guardian to turn away.

 _“Damn it…”_ Auron tried to focus on folding his coat, but he dropped it when he felt Seymour run blunted nails down his back.

“Auron, if you want to touch me, you may,” Seymour said, his voice softer. He was close enough that Auron could feel Seymour’s breath on the back of his neck.

“If you desire my body, I can give it to you,” Seymour continued. Long arms wound around Auron’s waist. “I wasn’t going to make you sleep on the floor. What kind of host would that make me?” Auron’s back burned where he felt a solid line of skin-on-skin from shoulders to hips with Seymour’s bare chest pressed against him.

At once, Auron broke apart Seymour’s arms and pulled away. He stooped over, feeling dizzy, supporting himself with his hands on his knees. Gracelessly wobbling in a circle, Auron didn’t want Seymour behind him again.

“I… I can’t,” Auron panted. His heart was pounding. Seymour had invited him for sex… for what? Taking one blow in battle? He chanced a look up; Seymour had dropped his robe, his fit, young body looking inviting indeed. But… “I can’t.”

“You can’t… what? I’m not asking you to marry me, I am simply saying that… if you want me, you can have me,” Seymour said.

And that was the problem. Seymour said this as if he were tossing Gil to the unfortunate. Auron put a hand to his forehead, collecting his thoughts.

“We’re…” Auron took a deep breath and righted himself. He was stronger than this. But Braska was still on his mind, and Seymour bringing him up again just made Auron’s heart ache again. “You said you lie about affection.”

Raising an eyebrow, Seymour looked like he had a hard time understanding.

“And? This isn’t affection. I do find you attractive, Auron. Very handsome, rugged...”

“That’s not all I am.”

Seymour canted his head to one side and smiled. “I know that.” He took a step forward, approaching as if Auron were an animal he might spook. “And there are many facets to you I would enjoy learning about.”

“Would you?” Auron felt his body draw tight. He folded his arms over his chest and stood his ground, unwilling to let Seymour catch him off guard again. “Or do you just want to use me?”

Frowning, Seymour shook his head. “You misunderstand. I said _you_ could use _me.”_ He settled his hands on his own hips and shook his head. “I don’t understand how I’m being unclear.”

Auron closed his good eye and took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts.

“I don’t want to use anyone, including you.” Opening his eye, he fixed on Seymour’s confused face, fighting the urge to let his eye wander. “I want a partner to care about what’s happening to them.”

Surprise had Seymour dropping his arms, his lips parting with a soft “oh” and hanging open there a moment. “I had thought… given your reaction to touch, you were fighting _desire_.” Folding one arm across his chest and touching his chin in thought with his free hand, Auron could read Seymour’s calculations. “This is… new.”

Releasing his held breath, Auron relaxed his own posture. “After I became an Unsent, any sort of touch became… numbness. Only pain existed. Pleasure was just… _gone_. I was used to the numbness that…” Trailing there, Auron raised his hands up a little, then dropped them back against his legs.

“That it’s almost painful to bear.” Seymour approached him again, slowly. “When I embraced you… for Reeve’s sake...?”

“It was too much, even though I invited it. Your hand was one thing.”

Seymour smirked and held a hand out, just an inch from Auron’s face.

“Then, shall we try this… ‘one thing’ at a time?” Seymour suggested.

Auron took a deep breath and slowly turned his head toward Seymour’s hand. His burning cheek felt cooled by Seymour’s long fingers as they cupped his jaw. A hiccup of sound broke out of Auron as his bottom lip trembled. Squeezing his eyes tight, tears started to roll down his face. Seymour’s other hand came up and cupped the other cheek, his thumbs brushing away the shed tears. From there, Seymour’s fingers moved up into his graying hair, the nails lightly scratching at his scalp. It made Auron shudder, realizing how much he had missed contact with another person. Seymour was very good at keeping it gentle and light. The hand still against his face brushed over his stubble and down over his scar, as if Seymour were learning every contour with his fingertips.

“Does this bother you?” Seymour asked. Auron believed he was sincere; if he didn’t, he thought he might shatter if Seymour drew away _now_.

Shaking his head, Auron pulled Seymour’s hands away and brought them close together in front of him. Drawing Seymour’s fingers to his lips, Auron did not kiss them so much as simply pressed his quivering lips to the knuckles.

“Thank you,” Auron breathed out.

Seymour pulled close enough for Auron to feel the coolness of his skin, though he did not try to embrace him again. Instead, Seymour stood there, remarkably patient.

“You’re welcome,” Seymour whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auron and Seymour continue to bond, while the Planet's most popular power couple finally show up. ;)

Reeve stood outside a few days later, wrapped in a long coat and holding a hand to shield his eyes from sunlight reflecting off the snow. A couple of snow mobiles drove up toward the WRO facility, parking just within the perimeter fence. The shorter of the two hopped off and clapped his hand on Reeve’s shoulder. The other took his time in removing his helmet and shaking out his long, silver braid.

“Thanks for coming up this way, guys. I know you’re on you’re annual winter leave, but-”

“Nonsense,” Sephiroth said, removing his sword from its straps and snapping it to the magnetic hasp on his coat. “We heard about the Dragon attack in town anyway.”

Cloud pulled his goggles down around his neck, scanning the area for any other signs of approaching danger. Most dragons in that region were nocturnal, but occasional food shortages made them apt to attack in daylight.

“So, where’s those new guys you mentioned?” Cloud asked, still scanning the upper crater regions.

“They’re inside. We still have not been able to fully bridge the communication gap, but I think Cait’s been able to learn a lot from them in the meantime. Cid is helping me develop a teaching tablet they can use to learn Gaean, if we can convince them it’s a good idea,” Reeve said, gesturing to the couple to follow him. “I’ve got a few translation devices from some scavenged bluetooth headsets I’ve been working on too…”

“And you’re certain they’re from Ancient… what was it? Spira?” Sephiroth asked, catching up quickly. “They have given you no reason to believe they might be from anywhere else?”

“That they speak a dead language is a start. That Seymour can cast magic naturally, without aid of Materia… that Auron can lift a Buster Sword the size of Cloud’s own weapon while not being genetically enhanced? I think…?” Reeve waved his hand before he went too far off the conversation. “They’re  _ something, _ if they’re not from around here,” Reeve said, leading the pair to the vehicle bay. The trucks were outside and the helicopter on the roof, making plenty of room for Auron to train, keeping his body in tune.

The older warrior was indeed there, practicing wide stances and broad swings, yielding his borrowed sword with precise control. Seymour idled nearby, perched atop a crate. Cait Sith was also present, as Reeve had instructed the puppet to wait for his arrival.

Cloud elbowed Sephiroth and grinned up at him. “Looks like you have competition for ‘Weirdest Hair,’” he snickered. Sephiroth pushed Cloud away with a snort.

“Ass,” Sephiroth replied, wearing a fond smile.

As Auron’s training session came to an end, he turned to greet Reeve and the newcomers with a crisp bow. Seymour did not so much hop off the crate as he slid off and glided in their direction. He rested a hand on Auron’s shoulder, and the pair exchanged a look.

Reeve gestured for Cait Sith to come closer to act as translator between the five of them.

“Auron, Seymour, these are my friends, Cloud and Sephiroth Strife,” Reeve said, pausing long enough for Cait to translate. “They’re, well, they’re the guardians of the Planet. They were in the area, so I called them up to check out the dragon problem around here and also meet the pair of you.”

Seymour was the first to extend a hand, reaching out to Sephiroth first. “A pleasure to meet you. And I must say, you have beautiful eyes. Very unique for a human.” He turned to Cloud and bowed his head. “You are… together?” he asked. “Mr. and Mr. Strife, was it?”

“Yes. Sephiroth is my husband,” Cloud said, giving Seymour’s hand a solid squeeze and a firm, bone-jarring shake.

Auron snickered behind his tall collar and reached out his gloved hand to the pair of them, not so foolish as to try to flatter these new people like Seymour did. A simple shake was exchanged, as well as a nod of respect to the pair of them for their choice of weapons.

“Hmm, he certainly appreciates a fellow warrior,” Seymour said, placing a hand at the small of Auron’s back. “Did you come here to assess if we’re threats?”

Sephiroth and Cloud glanced at each other, then at Reeve, who stumbled for an answer.

“I, well… Perhaps it’s time to get it all on the table. Yes, they are. You’re both unknown men with no identification, no common language with any other living persons, and you’re both adept at combat  _ and _ magic. By my book, that makes you threats. However… you’ve both shown exceptional restraint with how you’ve been treated here, so… if Cloud and Sephiroth find you safe enough… I’d like to introduce the pair of you to the modern world… once we make sure you’re safe enough for that.”

Auron glared at Reeve over the edge of his cowl. “What does that mean?”

Sephiroth held a hand out at Auron’s tone and waited for Cait to finish speaking.

“You’re talking… medically, aren’t you?” Sephiroth asked.

Reeve sighed in relief, glad Sephiroth brought it up. “Yes, actually. It’s probably been a few centuries since either of you were sick but… who knows what otherwise extinct diseases you might be carrying… or what vaccinations you’ve missed out on.”

Seymour frowned at the unfamiliar word. “What is a ‘vaccination?’”

Cloud whistled. “Okay, they really need them.”

 

*

 

Auron rolled his shoulders and paced the length of the space he shared with Seymour. Seymour, himself, was lounging on the bed with what Reeve called a “tablet,” a small Machina device that could be operated with a touch of the fingertip. Seymour perused the device’s contents with detached interest - he couldn’t  _ read _ anything on it, anyway. He idled there in just his pants, though Auron did not doubt he would sit about naked if he felt like it.

“Do you mean to wear a hole in the floor or are you truly pent up?” Seymour asked, not looking up from his little toy.

“I’m concerned about those two we met today,” Auron replied. He did not want to engage with Seymour’s petty attempt at winding him up. “They’re warriors. I don’t doubt their presence here is a message to us.”

“I feel the same way.” Seymour put the tablet aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “Should we kill them in our escape?”

Auron stopped pacing and stared across at Seymour. “I don’t think there’s going to be an escape.” Auron rubbed the sore crook of his elbow where they had jabbed him with needles to perform their “medical exams.” They took blood, injected him with something, injected him with  _ another _ something, all in the name of making sure neither he nor Seymour could get sick. Or get anyone else sick.

“I think they meant it when they said they wanted to introduce us to the new world.”

Seymour tilted his head to one side and raised a brow. “Is that not a good thing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that what’s bothering you? Not knowing?”

Auron licked his lips and looked away. “Yes.”

Raising his arms, Seymour gestured for Auron to approach. “Come here.”

Crossing back toward the bed, Seymour stood up to greet him and pushed the heavy robe off his shoulders.

“You’re going to drive  _ me  _ crazy if you don’t relax,” Seymour said, kneading Auron’s shoulders.

Auron removed his glasses and looked up at Seymour, studying his face.

“You’re another thing I don’t know anymore.”

A teasing smile played on Seymour’s lips. “Oh?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“Why would I bother doing that? You’re my only ally. What about the other night, offering myself to you? Was I being too  _ nice _ ?”

Frowning, Auron pushed Seymour’s hands off his shoulders. “No games.”

Seymour rolled his eyes and pulled back, giving Auron space.

“I think you forget what my advantage was. I was a Maester, a High Priest, and could call forth one of the strongest Aeons without even making a full pilgrimage. I have  _ none _ of that anymore. The only person I could influence is  _ you _ , and I know you don’t like me.” Seymour folded his arms over his bare chest and dropped his gaze. “You are my only ally - or I am alone.”

Closing his eye, Auron took a deep breath. Opening up again, he placed a hand on Seymour’s arm.

“I’m alone, too.”

Seymour clenched his jaw for a moment before relaxing his posture.

“We don’t have to be. And you don’t have to continue to sleep on the floor. I really am content to share the bed.” Seymour smirked and sat down again, patting the mattress beside him. “You’re warm.”

Auron chuckled, despite himself, and sat beside Seymour. “You do want to use me as a bedwarmer?”

Seymour’s smirk curled into a wider smile and he looked at Auron through his eyelashes. Placing a delicate kiss on Auron’s shoulder, he purred, “I wouldn’t mind the extra heat, if you’re offering.”

Clearing his throat, Auron started to stand again, but Seymour caught his wrist.

“It was a joke, Auron. I know you don’t want me. But I would like the company. I did have… frequent bed-mates from my guard.”

Auron’s expression softened with Seymour’s admittance. The small frown on his lips, the upturn of his brow - Seymour was not bragging, but just admitting a truth. He had many lovers. Something whispered at the back of Auron’s mind that he could fall into that pit himself… but perhaps that was not such a bad thing.

Sitting down again, Auron placed himself a little closer to Seymour’s side.

“I’ll stay. One step at a time.”

 

When night fell, Seymour made good on his promise to share his bed with Auron. The old guardian laid curled on one side away from him when they went to sleep, Seymour turned away from him.

In the night, however, Seymour awoke, sticky with sweat. Auron had curled tight against him, his heavy arm draped over Seymour’s waist. Auron’s body was a line of heat from Seymour’s shoulders to his hips. At the base of his neck, Auron’s nose pressed into Seymour’s hair.

“As endearing as this is…” Seymour murmured, “You’re smothering me.” He wriggled onto his back, earning a disoriented grunt from Auron.

“Jecht, stop kicking,” Auron grumbled. His heavy arm came up and pushed Seymour’s shoulder to the bed, and Auron hauled himself half on top of Seymour’s torso. “Stay put.”

“Auron, I am not Sir Jecht.”

He could feel Auron tense up on top of him, and the heat he radiated gave way to the cooler air in their room as Auron rolled away, muttering in apology.

“I did not mean to embarrass you, Auron…” Seymour turned to follow, but Auron just curled himself tighter. “You were dreaming of them?”

Seymour almost thought Auron had fallen asleep again before hearing a strained “Yes” from Auron, who now clung to the edge of the bed. Any further, and Seymour thought he’d tip right onto the floor. Gently easing Auron to safety with a light pull to his shoulder, Auron fell onto his back. In the dim light from under the door, Seymour made out the line of his face.

“We huddled for warmth in colder climes. Jecht liked to complain about them.”

“And you pinned him down with your body?” Seymour asked. He propped his head up with one hand, just able to catch a glint of Auron’s eye in the dark.

“...Yes.”

“Was there more to this pinning than slumber?”

Auron swallowed audibly. Seymour reached through the dark and traced his nails over Auron’s chest.

“I’m not going to judge you.”

“Yes.”

“Just Sir Jecht or…?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Auron sighed. “I loved them both, that’s all you need to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

Seymour pushed up further on his elbow, looking down on Auron with new understanding. “I truly am. It explains so much… why you stayed behind, even after death.”

“I didn’t fall in love until after we began,” Auron whispered. He stared up, past Seymour’s face, toward the ceiling. A glimmer of tears ringed Auron’s good eye; before Seymour could brush it away, Auron rubbed it off with a snarl.

“Braska… he was easy to love. Jecht… was a pain in the ass. A drunk, an idiot, foolhardy and brave… reckless…”

“Someone unlike you - strong willed, disciplined, cranky.”

“I’m not cranky.”

Seymour chuckled and laid down, tucking his head against Auron’s shoulder. Much to his surprise, Auron draped his arm over Seymour’s back and held him there.

“Perhaps I was,” Auron continued. “I wanted to be angry at them when they died.”

Seymour fell silent. He had no condolences to offer, and laying against Auron, soaking in his warmth again made him drowsy.

“Seymour?”

“Hmm?”

“Sorry. Goodnight.”

Seymour groaned and shifted a little closer, wrapping his arms around Auron’s waist.

“I envy you,” he breathed out. “I’ve never known love like that.” Seymour ran his fingers along Auron’s side. “Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Cloud and Sephiroth! (and yes, they're the ones from the main fic of this 'Verse)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth makes sure that Seymour knows he will not win if he tries to be a villainous prick again; Auron and Seymour end up in another vulnerable moment.

“A Gil for your thoughts.” Sephiroth approached the newcomer with caution. He had heard things about this Seymour - stories cobbled together from Reeve’s research and the gossip vine circulating the WRO facility. He discovered Seymour meditating in front of one of the facility’s few windows. It provided a view of the Crater, but Sephiroth preferred to not look.

Seymour looked over at him in confusion, until Sephiroth held out a small device to him. Pulling back the long curtain of his hair, Sephiroth revealed an identical device hooked over his ear and providing a small microphone near his mouth.

Taking the device, Seymour pulled the earpiece around his own ear and settled the microphone near his mouth.

“Can you understand me?” Sephiroth asked, waiting for the auto-translate to kick in.

Seymour gasped in surprise, touching his ear as the words flowed in.

“I can,” he replied, waiting for his words to be carried through.

“Ah, excellent.” Sephiroth smiled and took a seat beside Seymour, observing the mountain. “Reeve created these with the help of his Cait Sith programming - they’re much more discreet than being followed around by a puppet, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Seymour glanced sidelong at Sephiroth and focused his gaze outside again. “Are there many of these?”

“Only a handful. I understand that your language is quite ancient. Getting the translation right is still… tricky.”

“I was rather enjoying the privacy of my conversations,” Seymour replied.

Sephiroth chuckled. “And why wouldn’t you? You could plan an escape or perhaps a takeover? Right under their noses.”

Seymour clenched his jaw, but did not reply.

“I was a SOLDIER. Not just any subordinate - I was _the_ SOLDIER. A commander of armies, decorated as a hero… of course, that was propaganda.” Sephiroth folded his arms in his lap and leaned forward. The curtain of his hair pooled around his knees like a puddle of mercury.

“I didn’t just make it to that rank because I look good on a poster. I am not fooled by a calm demeanor and pleasant words.”

“Such a pity, then. I will have to try harder.”

Seymour’s words made Sephiroth laugh again, and he leaned back on his palms.

“Or, you can just be patient. Reeve has no intentions on holding either of you prisoner for much longer. In fact, I insisted he let you go sooner, but he wants to make sure that you’re at least healthy enough to handle the world at large.”

“I don’t get your meaning,” Seymour replied.

“The world as we know it is polluted and dark. People crowd into cities and fear living in open spaces.” Sephiroth tilted his head back. “Technology is vastly different than you ever encountered. We have tapped the Planet’s lifeblood and found ways to infuse it with human bodies. Even the blood of an ancient evil that crashed here some two thousand years ago.”

That got Seymour’s attention. He changed his position, looking fully upon Sephiroth now. “Two thousand years?”

“Yes. A being known as Jenova, a creature from beyond the stars, landed here. Her genetics are infused with mine, and that of other humans.” Sephiroth leaned forward again, looking into Seymour’s eyes. “The compliment you gave me yesterday? About my eyes? A result of scientific meddling. The passion project of a man obsessed with a creature from beyond human comprehension. I am tainted, but fortunate enough to still have Cloud’s love.”

“Why tell me this?” Seymour asked. He licked his lips, studying Sephiroth’s face.

“Because, if the stories about you are true, the Planet has had enough of false messiahs. My… well, the thing that called itself my mother, wanted me to destroy everything, once. If you were the villain Reeve has read about, know this…” Sephiroth got to his feet and offered a hand up to Seymour.

“You will not prevail.”

Seymour stood on his own, squaring his shoulders and smoothing down his robes.

“I was that man, once. Mad with grief, enraged by the treatment of my half-race status. An exotic creature to play with or mock. Impure blood - half Guado, half-human.” Seymour folded his hands in front of himself. “But, none of that matters anymore. Those who mocked me are long since dead. The creature that would be my vessel of destruction is destroyed. I have nothing.” Seymour began to pass Sephiroth, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “All I have is a guardian who was my enemy, a good man who served his wards faithfully, not even surrendering to death.” Seymour took a deep breath and pulled off the translation device. He pushed it into Sephiroth’s hand before concluding. “If anyone shall kill me again, it will be Auron.”

With that, Seymour left Sephiroth’s side.

 

Auron stopped mid push-up when Seymour barged into their room, looking flustered. Completing his 200th press, Auron rolled back onto his knees and greeted Seymour. Seymour ignored him, tearing at this belts in a bid to undress. When the knot to his wide belt wouldn’t come loose, Seymour screamed in frustration, pulling at his hair.

Hopping to his feet, Auron touched Seymour’s shoulder. Seymour slowly turned around, gripping his hands together so tightly that his regrown nails nearly punctured the skin. He was shaking and refused to make eye contact with Auron.

“What happened?”

“I was threatened,” Seymour whispered. “That _Sephiroth -_ he is onto us.”

“What did he say?”

“He said if I try anything, he’ll stop me. I told him only you were allowed to kill me, but…” Seymour paused, letting Auron pry apart his hands before he drew blood. “There’s a coldness under that friendly warmth he shows around his companion.”

“His husband,” Auron corrected. “I noticed that he seems to defer to Cloud.”

“I don’t doubt that he would take my life in a heartbeat if so desired.”

Auron rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Seymour’s hands, feeling how cold they were, how they trembled.

“He can’t have gotten that far under your skin. You’re not afraid of dying again, are you?” Auron asked.

“It’s not that.” Seymour pulled his hands away from Auron and proceeded to finally get his belts undone. He threw them all to the floor, with his robe on top. “It’s another reminder that I have nothing here. No power, no friends, no allies-”

“You have me.”

Seymour turned and moved into Auron’s space. Not to be cowed, Auron stiffened his spine, looking up at Seymour.

“Do I?” Seymour asked, his voice edged with cold. “Or are you biding your time until we’re let go? When you can go on your merry way as the wandering swordsman, doing good deeds for the little people?”

“You’re treading on thin ice, Seymour. You want me as an ally, but now you’re trying to push me away. What do you want me to do? Swear loyalty to you? Give myself over to your advances, use you like you let your guards do?” Auron raised a hand, slowly, just outside of touching Seymour’s face.

Seymour glanced at Auron’s raised hand and shook his head. “You want to do this? Mock what I did for you?”

“It’s not mockery. It’s an offering.”

Auron watched Seymour study his face, trying to read him, calculating, evaluating. Auron held his hand steady, looking him in the eye, unyielding to Seymour’s gaze. Seymour shifted, barely moving until his cheek rested in Auron’s calloused palm. Auron brought his other hand up, resting it against Seymour’s neck. He brushed one thumb over Seymour’s lips; Seymour’s eyes fluttered closed.

When his eyes opened again, Seymour turned his face further into Auron’s palm, kissing the meat under his thumb gently.

“Will you hold me?” Seymour asked.

Auron nodded, and Seymour almost knocked him over with the force of entering his embrace. Seymour’s arms wound tight around his torso, clinging to Auron as if he were on the verge of collapse.

“Thank you,” Seymour murmured, pressing his lips to Auron’s ear.

“You’re welcome.”

Holding him as promised, Auron rubbed Seymour’s back until he stopped shaking and separated himself from Auron’s arms. He turned away and picked up his things, replacing them in their shared closet beside Auron’s coat.

“He has figured out that we wish to escape,” Seymour said, breaking the fragile silence. “Sephiroth. He told me his body is infused with some sort of… alien blood. I don’t know if that was meant to be a threat on its own, but he didn’t sound as if he were proud of it.”

Auron moved to sit on the bed, peeling off the tank top he worked out in. Better than constantly washing his monk robes.

“Perhaps it was an odd way of trying to relate to you. Your appearance is still different from other humans.”

Seymour frowned, turning away from Auron to gather some simpler wear from the shelf. It was all very plain, but better than nothing - at least while in Auron’s presence. He tucked the clothes under his arm and shut the closet door behind him.

“I stand out wherever I go, and whenever it is. Marvelous.” Seymour paused by the room door, looking back to Auron. “You going to wash up? I feel filthy after that encounter.”

“You just want to ogle me freely.”

“ _You_ wanted me to be more honest,” Seymour said. He smiled, but it did not quite meet his eyes. Not in the chilly, polite way he normally smiled: the Maester’s Public Smile. No. There was a slump to Seymour’s shoulders, even a mild hesitation to leave the room on his own.

Gathering a fresh change of clothes himself, Auron got up and followed Seymour to the showers. He kept close and kept his gaze averted from most others, only turning his head when he heard Seymour snicker beside him.

“You really shouldn’t stride about shirtless,” Seymour said.

Auron scoffed. “Same for you.”

“I’m not the one being openly fawned over.”

“No one’s fawning over me.”

“Auron, your time in the monks isolated you too much. You can’t see that there are a number of women - and men - in this building who would probably slit my throat to take my place in your bed.”

“Not everyone has aspirations toward murder like you do.”

Seymour smirked and opened the door to the showers. “They should. I’d kill me to sleep in your arms. I am a lying slut, after all. You deserve better than me darkening your bedchamber.”

Auron pinched the bridge of his nose and nearly threw his clothing onto a bench in frustration as they entered the changing area.

“Are you determined to put yourself down every time we’re alone so I have to uplift your spirits whenever you do this?” Auron snapped.

“Do what?”

Auron put his things down and took Seymour by the shoulders, looking up into his eyes. Seymour tried to look away again, but Auron just shook him - gently - until he got the message to stop avoiding eye contact.

“You’re hurting yourself, and I can’t understand why. Are you ashamed of the things you’ve done?”

“...perhaps.”

“Look.” Auron pulled Seymour onto a bench and sat with him. “I have to end this here and now. You’ve committed terrible acts, yes?”

“You know I have,” muttered Seymour.

“Patricide. Conspiracy. Whatever term applies to kidnapping Yuna and forcing her to marry you.”

Seymour nodded.

“Do you feel bad about those things?”

“No.”

Auron raised his eyebrow. His hands slid down Seymour’s arms and took his hands.

“But you’re ashamed of…?” He paused, giving Seymour a chance to fill in the gaps, but Seymour stayed quiet. Pressing on, Auron said, “I don’t know that I can forgive what you’ve done. But, I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I wasn’t happy doing. I killed Bevelle guards - other _humans_ \- in Yuna’s name. I went against Yevon-”

Seymour got up and shook his head. “Auron, what you did were **good** things, in the end. Those guards gave their lives for what they thought was a noble cause - killing heretics. I have committed evil acts, I will not pretend that I didn’t. Killing my father was merely revenge. I did not believe in love, only in my ambition to destroy Spira - and thus, my marriage to Lady Yuna was an act of convenience. Had some other summoner the will and strength as she? They would have been in her place. I would have murdered Lady Dona’s or Lord Isaaru’s guardians to isolate them as well. I do not deny these things.”

“Then what, in Yevon’s name, is making you treat yourself like shit?”

“Justice. I do not deserve kindness. I want to go _home_ , to the Farplane, and be with my mother. Someone who _does_ love me.”

Auron stood up, slowly. “I thought you didn’t believe in love.”

“I don’t believe anyone **else** could love me. Even Trommell’s unflappable loyalty was to my position, not to _me._ No one loved _me,_ Auron. No one but her. I…” Seymour’s tirade halted with a stuttering sob breaking his focus, and he crumpled forward. Auron caught him before he went down, easing him back onto the bench.

“I don’t care if you use me because it would only be my body,” Seymour murmured, pressing his forehead into Auron’s shoulder.

“That’s why I won’t do it,” Auron replied. “If I were to take you, I’d want you there - present in the moment, enjoying yourself. Not just passively taking whatever I give.”

Seymour gulped for air and pulled away, wiping furiously at his face.

“You’re a romantic.”

Auron shrugged and bumped his shoulder into Seymour’s. “That had better be a compliment.”

Seymour’s lips still trembled, but he managed a smile - a genuine one. “It is.”

“Good, now, let’s wash up, yes? Clear our heads.”

 

Under the heat of the showers, Auron had just closed his eye to rinse out his hair when he heard a soft mumble from behind. Seymour, across from him in the showers, said something, but the noise of water drowned it out.

“Say again?” Auron said, pulling his head out from under the water.

“My vices. You asked what I was ashamed of. My vices. Seducing whoever would have me to buy their loyalty, using my body as currency, knowing no one cared for me.”

Auron turned off the water to his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.

“There are people who sell themselves-”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Seymour rinsed his long tendrils of hair and pulled them behind his back. Turning around, he raised his head so he looked down his nose at Auron.

“Those who worked _with_ sex were doing far better than I. I’m certain a good many distressed guardians and summoners had their needs filled and their minds calmed by such people. But, look at me, Auron.” Seymour brought his hands to his shoulders and slid them down, scraping his nails just enough to leave pink lines under the rivulets of water pouring over his torso. “How do I look, to you?”

Auron swallowed and let his eyes follow Seymour’s hands. Seymour’s skin was still unnaturally pale, a little rosier from the hot water, but soft and smooth. His musculature was sculpted just enough for definition without being carved too deeply. There were no scars, only his natural Guado markings and his elegant tattoos. The “v” of his hips stood out in a way that made Auron want to run his tongue along the divots and further down, chasing droplets while on his knees. 

As soon as his gaze traveled too low, Auron pulled back and looked up to Seymour’s stony expression.

“Are you trying to prove a point?” Auron snapped. He flexed his hands and balled them up, fighting the urge to touch.

“I don’t have to prove anything.” Seymour stepped out from under the water on his side and snatched Auron’s towel away with a flourish.

Auron jumped back and turned around. His erection had been obvious enough with the towel; the sudden exposure was embarrassing. He turned and pressed his forehead into warm tile and breathed deep, trying to shut out the fantasies that had started to invade his mind.

“You reacted the way I wanted you to, the way I’ve drawn others into my web. In the throes of passion, I’ve been promised the lives of many, and they’ve repaid me in their blood.” Seymour’s voice came from over Auron’s right shoulder, in his blind spot.

“You’re gorgeous, Seymour. Is that what you wanted?” Auron grumbled, turning his burning face to the cooling tiles. He peered with his good eye over his shoulder as best he could; Seymour had backed away from him.

“No.”

“I’m getting really tired of the cryptic answers,” Auron said, turning slowly. Seymour held out his towel to him again. Auron put it back on quickly, backing out of Seymour’s reach as he did so.

“I want someone to want _me_ , Auron. Not the shell I’ve made of myself. I won’t offer myself to you again,” Seymour walked away, turning his shower and collecting his things. Auron waited, listening to him dry off and dress himself.

Calmed down from Seymour’s strange behavior, Auron followed out into the changing area. He sat down on the bench, drying off and dressing himself quietly. He rolled over the whole interaction in his head again. Seymour knew damn well Auron would find him attractive, but his expression had looked disappointed. As if Auron had failed some sort of test to see beyond what Seymour presented to him. That much hurt. Auron did not like to think of himself as shallow _._ But, it did get him thinking about why he had fallen for Braska, and why he had been attracted to Jecht.

On the way back to their room, Auron fell quiet, meditating on what he believed Seymour really wanted: Someone to _know_ him.

Back in their private space, Auron sat down on the bed first, patting the mattress beside him. Seymour sat and hunched forward, staring at the floor.

“If you want someone to care for you, maybe you should try talking to people.”

Seymour scoffed. Turning toward Auron, he sat himself sideways on the bed.

“Should I make small talk? Discuss hobbies? Recipes? Musical preferences?”

Auron shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. Instead of playing imperial prick, maybe you could show people your human side. No one’s going to love you if you shove them away before they even get close.”

“Wise words for a man who couldn’t tell his Summoner he was in love with him.”

“Braska knew. I might not have admitted it, but… I think Braska knew all the time. He just… never pushed the issue.”

Seymour smirked and leaned back. “Is that so? Was it something he said? Perhaps he threw himself upon your bed?”

Auron rolled his eye and turned away, shaking his head. “Before he went to fight Sin, he kissed me goodbye. Just the once. It was probably the most painful kiss I ever had.” Auron thumbed over his lower lip, lost in the memory of Braska’s farewell for a moment. “No one’s kissed me since. I couldn’t allow it.”

Seymour grabbed Auron by the shoulders, but before he could sneak a kiss onto his mouth, Auron’s hand came up between them. Seymour pouted behind Auron’s fingertips and let go.

“You’re utterly transparent, Seymour. I wasn’t issuing a challenge. I don’t think I’d want to be kissed by someone seeing it as something to win. Maybe that’s what we have in common. We want to mean something, to someone.”

Seymour folded his arms over his chest and turned away again. “We do have meaning in each other’s lives, even as enemies. I prefer yours to be the hand that ends my life, no other’s.”

“That’s morbid.”

“I can have a preferred means of dying. I know it doesn’t mean I’ll get it.”

Auron snorted. “Maybe you’ll just die of old age.”

“That would be interesting. I’d have to…” Seymour paused and placed a hand over his heart. “I’d have to find something to _do_ with my life. I had always planned to die young, to become Sin.”

Auron laughed. Clapping a hand onto Seymour’s shoulder, he said, “You really will have to talk to people about their hobbies. You might need some.”

Seymour leaned forward, his chin in his hands. “I can have a life,” he said, astonished. “I can be a person.”

“You’re already-”

“ _No,_ Auron.” Seymour got to his feet, a new energy lifting his spirits. “I don’t have to be Maester, or a priest, or even continue to practice magic anymore. It… hadn’t occurred to me that I can just _be.”_ Pacing back and forth in tight lines, Seymour shook out his hands, his whole body vibrating with energy.

Auron sat, watching Seymour have his epiphany. “Yes, you get a second chance. So do I.” He smiled again, amused with Seymour’s surge of vigor. He thought he might get whiplash with the way Seymour swept from one mood to the other. This one was an improvement, however.

“You don’t understand, Auron. I have _nothing_ . It means I am free. If they let us go, we can _do_ anything. We can _be_ anyone. Or no one. That’s… exciting.”

“I hope you don’t pull a muscle, leaping from emotion to emotion like that,” Auron said, snickering.

“I could kiss you.” Seymour turned sharply, and grabbed Auron’s face in both hands. “But, I won’t. Not like that.” Instead, he pressed his cool lips to Auron’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure why, but you’re welcome.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auron and Cloud meet and talk fighting and Farplanes. Seymour is left alone in his room. That means what it sounds like ;)

Cloud found Auron in the garage again, practicing his sword forms with a standard Buster blade. He waited three days to catch Auron alone; finding him without Seymour tagging along had proved quite difficult.

“Nice form,” Cloud said. He approached slowly, watching Auron put down his blade to one side.

“Thank you,” replied Auron.

“Used to these things already?” asked Cloud, gesturing to his own earpiece. “Suppose you have to be…”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Cloud chuckled; Auron wasn’t a small-talker, which he appreciated.

“Trying to get a bead on you, really. You play pretty close to the vest.”

Auron snorted, crossing to where he had a towel and a bottle of water sitting on a crate. He poured some water into the towel and rubbed it over his face and chest, his back to Cloud.

“Hell of a scar you have,” Cloud noted. “Seymour give you that?”

“Why ask?”

“Sephiroth gave me this one.” Cloud opened the buckles on his shirt, showing off the scar from where Sephiroth had run him through with Masamune, not once but twice. “I figure, if you and Seymour are a thing-”

“You listen to too much gossip.”

“Hard not to. People think you’re a match for me or Seph. Of course, if I had nothing but snow and the occasional frost dragon to entertain me for months on end, I’d take any chance to gossip, too.”

Auron turned around and sat on the crate. He took a long drink of water from the bottle before saying anything.

“Am I a threat to you?”

“Are you?” Cloud took a few steps forward as he re-buckled his shirt. “You seem a lot more cooperative than Seymour. That doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous.”

Auron scoffed and took another sip of water. “I’m a patient person. If any of you had wanted us dead, I’m certain that would have happened already.”

Cloud didn’t have an argument for that, and simply nodded. He pulled up a crate and hopped on, folding his legs under him.

“You’re not wrong. If you were really considered a danger, you’d  **probably** be dead. If anything, we’re just trying to figure out how you got  _ here _ . If you’ve been dead for two-thousand-plus years, why did the Lifestream choose  _ now  _ to-”

“Lifestream?”

Cloud stopped and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “It’s kind of like the after life. A place where dead spirits go before the Planet has use for them again.”

“We called it the Farplane.”

“Huh.” Cloud rolled his head to one side, considering the term. “Should have known there would be another word- Nevermind. What I mean is, did you have any unfinished business?”

“No.”

“Suffering?”

“Not really.”

“Nagging doubts?”

“No.”

“What about-”

“Cloud.” Auron stood up and pulled a shirt over his head. Cloud couldn’t help but notice that it seemed too small for him; clearing his throat, Cloud looked away. “I took care of my promises centuries ago. Seymour accepted his defeat when Lady Yuna performed her sending for him. We have no reason to be here.” He picked up his sword and hefted it over his shoulder. “Whatever reason the Farplane, the Lifestream, has for spitting us out in your modern world is well beyond my understanding. Frankly, I was happy to be dead.”

“I don’t get it.” Cloud balled up his fists and rested his chin on top. “Sephiroth had his anger, which Jenova used to keep him coming back until he found a reason to live.”

“That would be you.”

Cloud smiled and blushed, dropping his head down. “Yeah, it would be. But, if you were… well,  _ fine _ with your death… why didn’t the Lifestream let you be reborn normally? Into a new person?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Maybe it liked…” Auron gestured to himself. “Me. Though, I did not look like this upon my death. I was twenty-five. I shouldn’t have aged. And yet, here I am.”

“Sephiroth was twenty five, he’s technically closer to forty now…”

Auron scoffed. “From what I understand, he has strange magic and science to thank for his appearance. Personally, I don’t care what I look like. I’m not a vain man. It’s simply unusual.”

Hopping off his crate, Cloud clapped a hand on Auron’s shoulder. Auron glared down at the offending hand; Cloud pulled back and apologized.

“Well, whatever the reason to bring you back, I hope we can be friends. The world could always use another noble man.”

Auron shook his head and turned away. “I’m a warrior. That’s all.”

As Auron walked away, Cloud watched him go.  _ “He reminds me so much of Vincent, it’s kind of ridiculous.” _

 

Seymour laid back in his shared bed, staring at the ceiling. Auron had - politely - asked that he have some alone time to meditate and exercise. Seymour had agreed to that and stayed behind. It gave him the opportunity to meditate as well, but his mind was too occupied.

With a particular legendary guardian.

Stretched out as he was, Seymour had stripped naked. He lightly scraped the nails of one hand along his thigh in an attempt to distract his mind from what it was currently occupied with: Auron. 

Of course he knew he could be attracted to full-blooded humans. Yuna was beautiful in her wonderfully righteous glory. Her determined, selfless spirit was alluring, but his desire for her had waned upon his death, fixing itself into a mania Seymour was free of in this new life. Instead, he found himself wanting in other ways.

Ghosting his hand up over his bare stomach, Seymour switched his focus back to Auron. Unlike a Guado, who were mostly thin and wispy in youth, Auron was thick. Everywhere. His muscles were well defined and skin a natural tan shade. He radiated heat from his body and warmth from his heart. His hands were rough-hewn and strong, but his touch could be quite delicate. He had body hair and shaved his face at least once a day, but the stubble persisted. A scent of old-world incense had permeated his clothes and clung to Auron’s skin and mingled with the soaps he used.

It had not gone unnoticed by Seymour that Auron could have requested a space to himself once he got used to the translation devices Reeve had provided them with. Instead, he choose to continue sharing with Seymour. Not just a room, but a bed.

Seymour was used to bed-mates, but Auron was far different. He would hold Seymour if either of them rolled into the others space. More than once had Seymour started his morning with Auron’s head tucked under his chin. The height difference between them made such wakings an inevitability.

Despite Auron’s increased comfort with contact, as well as Seymour’s realization that only he was truly allowed to touch Auron  _ casually _ , he still made no advances. Even with Seymour offering himself openly, Auron simply turned him down.

It was frustrating.

On his back, Seymour traced a sharp nail up along the center line of his stomach and between his pecs. His finger made a light pink line over to his nipple where he pinched - hard - and tried to imagine it was Auron’s calloused fingers instead of his own. Hissing, Seymour closed his eyes and bent one leg up. His other hand slipped down between his thighs and he cupped his balls from underneath, rolling them in his fingers.

Biting his lip, Seymour let his fantasy linger on Auron holding him down, torturing him with teasing hands and silence, listening as Seymour whimpered, watching him writhe with need.

“Ah, Auron,” he gasped, closing his fist around his cock. Seymour rolled over onto his stomach, his warm cheek against Auron’s pillow. A faint whiff of Auron’s sweat and the heady herbal soap Auron used met Seymour’s nose. The scent made it easier to pretend he wasn’t alone.

One hand on his cock, Seymour moved the other to his ass, pressing his fingertips against his hole. It was easy to imagine Auron taunting him, making Seymour feel needy and desperate until he was begging.

In his haze, Seymour’s eyes cracked open briefly as he jerked himself off, shoving up onto his knees for better purchase. As he did so, he wondered what Auron would do to him if caught like this - masturbating wantonly, desiring the guardian but… Seymour  _ had  _ to promise to stop offering himself.

He could practically see Auron coming into the room, watching him from the door, shocked but not admonishing. Just watching, slowly approaching as Seymour reached his climax. Kneeling beside the bed with that combative focus on his face, watching and saying  _ nothing _ , giving Seymour  _ nothing. _

Seymour bit his lip and stared toward the door. He felt pathetic, wanting to be wanted, needing even the slightest affection of a kiss from a vision in his lust-addled mind. Whimpering again, Seymour tensed up as he climaxed, falling limp into his own mess on the sheets. He panted, keeping his eyes shut while he pushed back the fantasies to the back of his mind, wanting no more to dwell on them now that he had Auron out of his system.

Until a hand - not his own - pushed the sweaty bangs from Seymour’s face.

Despite the orgasm tapping out his energy, Seymour skittered away from the edge of the bed where Auron crouched, watching him. The heat crawling over his skin turned into a furious blush of pink all down his torso.

He had been caught, and Auron just  _ watched him _ .

“Why did you not say anything? Or leave?”

Auron, from where he knelt, gave Seymour a kind - no,  _ pitying _ \- look.

“You looked like you didn’t want to be alone.”

Seymour fumbled his way off the end of the bed, nearly collapsing as soon as his feet hit the floor. Auron was swift enough to catch him before he fully hit the ground, but somehow that felt more like a slap in the face to Seymour.

“Don’t touch me!” Seymour hissed, ineffectually smacking Auron’s hands away. “Don’t look at me like that.” He shrugged out of Auron’s grip and backed up. He folded his arms over his chest and tried not to pout.

“Like what?”

“Like you feel sorry for me. Like I’m a fool.”

Auron scoffed. “For how much you come onto me, I don’t think you’re a fool. I don’t even feel sorry for you.” Auron’s lips quirked into a faint smile, and he took a step forward. “It’s not shameful, what you did.”

“Even if I should be ashamed for my lack of control?” Seymour looked away from Auron, even as he got closer.

“Why would you be? You’ve made it clear to me that you have a very active libido, and are used to having frequent partners.” Auron put a hand on Seymour’s shoulder and held him still, trying to look up into his face. “If you want me to give up the charade so you can pursue someone else-”

“I don’t want anyone else!” Seymour snapped. When he realized what he said, he felt the blood drain out of his face. Backing away again, Seymour sat on the foot of their bed. “I want you.”

Auron’s expression melted from amused to concerned. “I thought you didn’t do affection.”

“It’s not  _ affection _ , it’s desire.” Seymour rolled his gaze up to where Auron stood over him. “I don’t need you to love me, I need you to take me.”

Shaking his head, Auron crouched again. He took Seymour’s hands in his own; Seymour stared down at the contrast. Auron’s rough, dark hands against his own long, pale fingers.

“I wouldn’t, unless you loved me.”

Seymour closed his eyes. A tear rolled down one cheek. He rubbed it off with a faint growl. “I know. What you and I want are completely opposite. I cannot love. I just can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t, Seymour?”

“Can’t,” Seymour spat through his teeth. “It’s an alien concept to me.”

Auron sighed and got to his feet. He leaned over Seymour and pressed his lips against the top of his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are  _ you _ apologizing to  _ me?” _

“Because I’m making you miserable.”

“I deserve it.”

“Seymour-”

“No.”

Getting to his feet, Seymour gathered the sheet from their bed and balled it up. Taking it to the corner with their hamper in it, Seymour stuffed the wadded up sheet as if it offended him.

“Seymour, please.”

“What are you going to say? That I am deserving of affection? That I can make myself able to love someone?” He slammed the hamper lid down and sat on it, as if the sheet were trying to escape. “I’ll have my things moved out so that you may be free of me.”

Auron sighed. “What happened to your new lease on life? I thought you were remaking yourself. You are free of your past, and I’m willing to work with you on that.”

“Why?”

“Because my past is gone as well. I think we do need to make the best of our situation, and I don’t think either of us should be alone while we do it.”

Approaching slowly, Auron held out his hand to Seymour again, waiting for him to take it.

Seymour looked up to Auron, then down his arm to his outstretched hand.

“I’d like that,” Seymour whispered.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seymour and Auron are finally cleared to go outside and spend their first few days of freedom at Seph and Cloud's place. Auron gets to meet their little boy, a precious little Zack Strife.
> 
> Also, Seymour finds that Auron can be cute.

“How does your magic work, exactly?” Sephiroth brought a couple of mugs to the table, placing a cup of tea for both Seymour and Auron in front of them as he sat. They had been given leave from the mountaintop WRO facility. Finally allowed to join the rest of the modern civilization, Seymour and Auron stayed as guests at Sephiroth and Cloud’s log cabin in what they called “the Icicle Area.” While Reeve and Cloud sought passage for their new friends from one continent to the other, Sephiroth entertained the pair himself.

Auron lifted his mug and sniffed at its contents for a moment before daring a taste. The aroma was mildly familiar, but strong, something he needed. He swirled the dark liquid in his cup a moment before taking a taste. As he put the cup down, he noticed Sephiroth’s small son, a boy named Zack, watching him.

“...and channel the power of the pyreflies through our connection with that,” Seymour was saying, a few sparking lights glowing around his hand. “Though, they feel far different from what I remember…”

“Those lights are cool,” Zack murmured, glancing toward Seymour for a moment before returning his focus to Auron. “Can you make lights like that?”

Auron chuckled and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m a warrior monk. I was not trained in magic.”

“Is that like a SOLDIER? My dads are SOLDIERs.”

“Something like that. I use a really big sword.”

Zack pulled a love-worn plush chocobo up to his side and looked at Auron with big, round eyes.

“Is it super long or is it like, really flat?” Zack asked. “Or does it, like, EXPLODE into a bunch of other swords?”

“I’m not sure I understand-” Auron began.

Sephiroth chuckled from his corner of the table and reached over to tussle Zack’s hair.

“My Masamune is a very long blade. Cloud’s First Tsurugi is a Buster Style blade, like what you’ve been using, Auron, but it’s composed of several interlocking blades,” Sephiroth explained. “Some of Cloud’s techniques with it could be described as explosive.”

Zack nodded vehemently. “Oh yeah. It’s really cool.”

“I had a sword called Masamune once, but I think it’s been lost to time. It wasn’t with me on the mountain. Though it was not very long or made of many blades. It was just… unusual,” Auron said. Zack smiled and resumed coloring on his paper, a large red crayon in hand.

Seymour nudged Auron’s foot under the table and caught his attention. Over the rim of Seymour’s cup, he smiled at Auron before returning to his conversation with Sephiroth over the properties of magic.

“You said that your magic comes from the Lifestream, in the form of stones?” Seymour began, and the conversation turned quite academic. Too much so for Auron to follow.

Instead, Auron watched the little boy draw, first making someone clad all in red, with a really large rectangle in his hand. Realizing what Zack was drawing, Auron tucked his face deeper into the collar of his coat, hiding his smile.

Once his drawing was complete, Zack stood on his chair and pushed the piece of paper closer to Auron. Beside the rendition of himself, Auron took note of the smaller person beside him clad in dark blue, wielding a very similar looking blade, though much smaller.

“Is this me?” Auron asked, pointing Zack’s art.

Zack smiled and nodded. “Yep! And that’s me, but I gotta plastic sword ‘cause Daddy says I’m not allowed to have a metal one… uh…” Zack looked over at Sephiroth, floundering for the rest of the rule.

“Until your age ends in -teen. Once you get old enough to start building strength, then you’ll get a proper blade.”

“Yeah, ‘til I’m a teen.” Zack leaned over the table and motioned for Auron to come closer.

Tilting his head to give Zack his ear, the boy cupped a hand around his mouth. “But Papa says I can use a wood one when I’m ten,” he stage-whispered to Auron.

“I see.” Auron sat back up and pushed back his glasses. As he did so, he caught Seymour smiling at him again, as well as Sephiroth chuckling over his son. He recalled something about Sephiroth’s hearing being superhuman. Auron assumed that Zack’s conspiratorial whispering had still been heard perfectly.

As Auron wondered at the look Seymour was giving him, a noise from the door sent Zack flying from his seat, squealing happily as Cloud and Reeve returned. Sephiroth excused himself and collected the empty mugs before joining his husband at the entrance.

Seymour slid his chair closer to Auron and spoke in a low tone.

“That little boy seems quite taken with you, Auron.”

“Kids are kids.”

“Yes, but what interests me is your ease with him. Did you have dreams of fatherhood?”

Auron tugged on the hem of his collar, pulling it up a little higher.

“Not… at first.”

“I see.” Seymour stood from his seat at the table and smoothed down his robe. Leaving Auron at the table, he exited the kitchen area to greet Cloud.

Auron drummed his fingers on the table top, thinking about what Seymour could be implying. While Seymour knew better than to think of his interaction with a child as anything _vulgar_ , it made Auron curious as to why Seymour cared for his paternal instincts. Truly, they had been latent; the offering of the High Priest’s daughter was not enough to make him think of taking a wife anymore than the implication that he could have children with her. No, it was not until he met Braska, and by consequence, little Yuna, that Auron even entertained the notion of raising a child.

Letting that train of thought escape him, Auron got up from the table to see what it was that Cloud and Reeve had brought with them. In the living room, a dozen or so paper and plastic bags dotted the sofa, the coffee table and around the floor.

“Do some light shopping?” Auron asked. He leaned over a bag, unable to read the box inside. “This seems like more than traveling documents.”

Cloud grinned. “Modern clothes for you and Seymour. I figure you two are probably sick of the hand-me-downs borrowed from the WRO, and your respective gear will make you stand out even more.”

Seymour raised a brow and scoffed. “More than electric blue hair?”

Reeve chuckled. “Oh, please. People dye their hair all sorts of colors. Just tie it back and no one will be the wiser. At least no one will realize it’s your natural shade.”

“How very interesting,” said Seymour, in a tone that suggested he did _not_ find the subject interesting at all. He fished through the bags, inspecting various items with increasing levels of disdain.

Reeve broke away and collected a handful of bags, giving them to Auron.

“Hopefully, you’re less picky than Seymour.”

Taking the bags, Auron gave Reeve a small nod and retreated with them to the guest room. Seymour hurried in right behind as Auron was shutting the door, scooting in under his arm.

“I want to see what they got for you. Everything of mine is so… plain.”

Auron sighed. “The modern world seems less bright in general.”

Placing his share of new gear on the bed, Auron removed things from bags, laying out the pieces after careful study. His coat and collar followed, piled on the far end of the bed. Behind him, Seymour slipped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Auron’s waist, dropping his chin on Auron’s shoulder.

“What?”

Seymour sighed and nibbled on Auron’s earlobe. “I am still thinking of your kindness to that little boy. I never imagined you to be sweet.”

Auron put down the boots in his hands and pried Seymour’s hands off his waist.

“I’m just full of surprises, aren’t I?” he grumbled.

Hearing Seymour scoff behind him, Auron could visualize the pout he was likely wearing.

“Did I find a sensitive topic?” Seymour asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t quite answer me before… Did you want to be a father?”

“Not until I met Yuna as a child. I never wanted kids, but when I fell in love with Braska…”

“Say no more.” Seymour shuffled away and Auron heard him remove his heavy robe before plopping on the floor with his things. “I cannot compete with a ghost.”

“Huh?” Auron turned around to face Seymour, who sat with his chin in his hands. “What does that mean?”

“It means that no matter how I try, whatever I want from you… my overtures must bypass the insurmountable wall of Braska’s memory. Your love for him… it’s not something I can meet.”

Auron’s knees buckled and he sat heavily on the bed. “I thought you didn’t _do_ love.”

Seymour cast a look to Auron as if he were stupid. “Which is my first hurdle. I may be able curb my desire, but I do not see myself as capable of falling in love. You only see yourself as able to love, and withhold desire for someone who has long passed.”

“I never said-”

“You make it clear. Every significant moment in your life has traces back to Braska. Your true love, your desire to be a father, your reason for being Unsent.”

“Wait, that’s not fair-” Auron protested, getting to his feet.

Seymour dropped his hands and leaned back onto his palms, looking up to Auron. “No, it isn’t. I don’t really deserve to be loved, least of all from you, but what would you do if someone declared their heart to you? Would they have to fight Braska’s ghost as well? Would you let him go?”

“I… I don’t know…” Auron sighed. He circled the wall of shopping bags between himself and Seymour and crouched beside him. Placing a hand on Seymour’s shoulder, he gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry, if I made you feel insignificant.”

Seymour rolled his eyes and picked Auron’s hand off his shoulder as if it were refuse stuck to him.

“You haven’t done anything I’m not used to.”

Auron growled low in his throat and grabbed Seymour by both shoulders, turning him violently so they were face to face.

“Stop that!”

“What?”

“Stop treating me like I’m no better than the people who abused you so you can justify hating yourself!” Auron stood and lifted Seymour to his feet. “Stop using _my_ sadness to reinforce your own! You can be loved, Seymour, but _I_ can’t fix you. You have to do that yourself.”

Seymour turned his head and sniffed. “I’m afraid to. When I’ve done so much wrong…”

“You can commit to making it right.” Auron pulled Seymour into an embrace and held him tight. Seymour hesitated, then put his arms around Auron in turn.

“You’re right… I’m sorry.” Seymour sniffled again and turned his face into the nape of Auron’s neck again. “You are very attractive, and filled with a depth of kindness I sometimes can’t believe is real. If I am unable to win your heart, whoever does will be a very lucky man.”

Auron leaned back and caressed Seymour’s cheek, wiping away a fallen tear.

“Thank you.” Auron pulled Seymour down and pressed their foreheads together. He could hear Seymour sigh deeply, and felt his hands come to rest on Auron’s waist.

“I mean it. You don’t need to be so kind to me, and yet you are. I wonder, what spectre of your past has harmed you so that you refuse to turn to resentment?”

Frowning, Auron pulled back and looked up at Seymour again. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not a fool. Something else haunts you, something that made your love to Braska so terrible that you had to hide it. I won’t press, but…” Seymour took Auron’s glasses off and rubbed a thumb under his scarred eye. “The damaged know their own.”

Auron felt his mouth go dry as he stared after Seymour, who put Auron’s glasses on for himself and slipped away to his clothing bags. He jumped when a soft knock came to the door, Cloud’s voice floating through.

“Everything okay in there?” rang through Auron’s translator piece on his ear. “I know not everything will fit-”

Auron opened the door on Cloud, and he almost tumbled in, catching himself at the last second.

“We’re fine, thanks.”

Cloud raised a brow and nodded. “Oooookay then.” Cloud’s voice dropped low. “I heard some arguing. Everything all right?”

“Nothing more than a typical tragic backstory between old enemies. Don’t worry about us.”

Cloud snorted and chuckled. “Alright, well… don’t angst too much. You’ve got friends out here.”

“Thanks.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABY ZACK! He's around 8 by this point.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auron has a glass of wine and relaxes by the fire. His dreams bring up memories of an affair he had while he was still a monk... and Seymour discovers why Auron prefers love with his sex.

Later that night, after trying on and rejecting some clothes while keeping some others, Auron slumped against the back of an armchair, watching the fireplace crackle and snap. Sephiroth and Cloud had put Zack to bed and eventually went themselves, with Seymour drifting off to the guest room himself sometime after.

Auron was alone with his thoughts, as well as a glass of wine. Cloud said something about alcohol not really affecting him or Sephiroth that much, and that Auron and Seymour were welcome to it.

While never a heavy drinker because of the monastery, Auron did partake ceremonially. Nog had been a part of his flaming sword techniques, but the alcohol in it was too strong to drink casually without blacking out. After Jecht had sworn off the drink, Auron and Braska had turned down wine from then on in support of Jecht’s choice.

After becoming an Unsent, alcohol no longer affected him, only serving to burn his throat whenever he reached for the bottle. The fruity concoction Cloud had offered to them seemed too weak to do any damage, but as Auron sat by the fire, watching the flames dance, he felt himself slipping off into his mind as he drained off the last of his glass.

 

_“_ _Auron, may I see you in my chambers?” said the High Priest, Saozin._

_“Of course.” Auron felt himself beam with pride. Rarely was anyone in the order invited to speak with the High Priest one on one, but Auron had been working very hard to become a skilled warrior. He hoped his training had shone through, and now it seemed like he had been noticed._

_That High Priest Saozin was also the most handsome man in the order didn’t hurt, either. Auron trotted after him like a puppy after its mother, feeling lighter than air._

_“Have a seat, Auron,” the High Priest said, sweeping his long robes behind him as he opened the door to his chambers._

_Plush cushions dotted the floor around a circular table which held a small statue in the shape of Bevelle’s guardian wyrm, the great serpent undulating in icy, white marble. Heavy incense choked the room and tickled Auron’s nose. Long scrolls of Yevon’s precepts, inscribed by the High Priest as part of his learning framed the walls with their elegant script. To one wall, the low-sitting bed of the High Priest, to the other side, small altar where the incense burned. A half-finished scroll laid on the circular table next to a pot of ink and a brush pen._

_While Saozin’s chambers were hardly different from any other temple’s, to Auron, it was like catching a glimpse of what the priest was really like. There were small touches - shimmering silver embroidery on a pillow he chose to kneel on, a red curtain draped over the window, tinting the daylight outside in warm, masculine tones. Oil burners on every wall cast everything nearby in golden hues._

_And Saozin, disappearing behind a folding screen as he talked._

_“You have just had your twentieth birthday, have you not?”_

_Auron felt his heart flutter. Saozin_ **_had_ ** _noticed him!_

_“Yes, your grace.”_

_“Please, we are alone, Auron, call me Saozin.” The priest emerged from behind the folding screen, adorned in nothing but a silky robe in spring green. His long red hair had been untied from its traditional topknot and flowed over his back and shoulders in waves. He smiled at Auron, fine lines framing ice blue eyes._

_Auron felt his throat tighten. Words escaped him. High Priest Saozin was beautiful._

_“As you wish… Saozin.”_

_“Good, good.” Saozin gracefully crossed the room to a decanter, pouring wine from it into a matching pair of gilded porcelain cups. He placed one on the table before Auron as he took a seat. The robe parted as he sat, offering Auron a tantalizing view of his bare leg._

_Auron grabbed the cup suddenly and took a long drink, yanking his gaze away from Saozin before he said something stupid._

_Saozin chuckled and brought his knee higher. In the dim light, Auron could see just under the robe, catching a glimpse of Saozin’s cock._

_“I and the other High Priests have been talking, Auron. You show much promise. An excellent swordsman, you handle yourself very well. You have exceeded the master’s expectations with your skills and your… stamina. However,” Saozin paused to take a sip of his own wine._

_“However?” Auron echoed, tense with waiting and trying not to stare._

_“However, it has come to our attention that you and some of the other boys are… less disciplined, when it comes to your bodies.”_

_Auron felt his body go cold. What Saozin said was true. Many of the training monks were young men, and being around each other so much for so long… sex just happened._

_“Please, don’t feel ashamed. It’s perfectly natural. I vouched for you. I think you simply need a focus.” Saozin chuckled, catching Auron’s eye as he licked a droplet of wine from his lips, staining them a bright pink. “In particular, I hear you are_ **_very_ ** _popular.”_

_Downing the rest of his drink, Auron looked away. “That is only true in certain contexts…” Auron explained, feeling his heart drumming in his chest. “Kinoc says I’m a freak of nature.”_

_Saozin threw his head back and laughed, stroking one hand down his elegant throat. Auron wanted to sink his teeth into the pale, lightly freckled skin and leave his mark._

_“Kinoc is probably jealous. Though, I must say, I am curious… I’d like to see this myself.”_

_“I beg your pardon?”_

_Saozin poured another glass of wine for himself and refilled Auron’s cup._

_“I mean it. I’d like to see what makes you so popular.” Saozin smiled in a way that made Auron’s spine tingle. “Strip for me.”_

_Standing hurriedly, Auron took his robes off, piling them on top of his boots and gloves. Once he was done, he stood before Saozin, his hands folded in front of him._

_“Don’t be shy, Auron. You’ve been nude around other men in the temple.”_

_“But never you, your grace. I mean… Saozin.”_

_The priest smiled and rose to his feet. Elegant fingers cupped Auron’s jaw, turning his head left to right. While thinner than Auron, Saozin was still as tall, looking him in the eyes._

_“Such a handsome young man. So strong…” Saozin’s warm fingers smoothed over Auron’s body. He couldn’t help but shiver under the delicate touch, wanting more. His skin broke out in goosebumps._

_“Thank you, your grace.”_

_“So formal. I like that.” Saozin’s hands moved over Auron’s torso, down to his waist and between his legs._

_“And so very thick. I can see why the other boys like you so much.”_

_As Saozin wrapped his fingers around Auron’s cock and began to stroke him, Auron gasped, thrusting into the priest’s skilled fingers._

_“Your grace! Why?”_

_“You want me, don’t you, Auron? I said I can give you focus. Instead of playing with the boys younger than you, I can hone your focus to a razor’s edge. I can give you what you need, what your body desires.” Saozin seized Auron’s ponytail at the base and tugged with one hand while stroking him with the other. “But you must pledge yourself to my tutelage, or I can find another student.”_

_“No! My lord, please, I want you! Only you!”_

_“Good. Now, lay on my bed…”_

 

“Auron?”

“Only you…” Auron muttered.

“Auron?” Seymour shook his shoulders.

Auron’s head lolled around in a circle before his vision cleared. His neck hurt and he felt disoriented. Seymour cupped his face with one hand and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“You were mumbling in your sleep.”

Auron grunted and stretched his arms, sitting up a little better. He didn’t remember passing out, but the warmth from the fireplace must have lulled him to sleep. It had died down considerably before Seymour turned the knob to shut it off.

“...Maybe not just mumbling,” Seymour said, looking him over as he sat up. “Good dream, I hope?”

Looking down, Auron groaned at the tent in his jeans, the feeling uncomfortable.

“Depends on your perspective,” Auron grumbled. “It was a memory…”

“Seems like a good one, anyway.” Seymour smirked and held his hands out. “Up you go.”

Auron let Seymour help him up, the world swimming around him as he stood. He didn’t think he’d had that much to drink, but perhaps more than he was used to.

“Is it very late?”

“Not really,” Seymour replied. “But I noticed the bed was cold and you were still out here.” He placed a hand on Auron’s chest to help steady him as they walked. Auron kept himself quiet, thinking back on the dream until they were in the room.

“Did you understand what I said?” Auron asked.

Seymour pushed him into a seated position on their bed and helped him out of his clothes.

“You said ‘only you’ a couple of times. A dream about Braska, I presume?” Seymour pulled off Auron’s boots and jeans in short order, not even pausing to make a lewd comment. He handed over a fresh pair of underwear for Auron to change and stood to turn his back.

“No… um… did you know High Priest Saozin?”

Seymour scoffed. “Who _didn’t_ know-- Oh, no, Auron…” Seymour turned around before Auron was finished, just sitting on the edge of the bed in a shirt and holding boxer-briefs in one hand.

“He _didn’t…_ not with _you…_ ”

“He did. I thought… I thought he loved me.”

Seymour sat on the bed and pulled Auron close, wrapping his arms around Auron’s shoulders. Auron let his head fall into the nape of Seymour’s neck, despite the protesting muscles.

“Now it makes sense… I may joke about my promiscuity, but that man was a snake. I think he lived to break young men’s hearts. I’m so sorry…” Seymour stroked Auron’s hair. “I think I was the only match for him. He begged me not to leave him.”

“That makes me feel a little better.” Auron sat up, rubbing his neck with one hand. “That you managed to out-slut him.”

Seymour snorted, granting Auron a wan smile. “What he did to you was cruel. My guards might have promised their lives to me, but only on the condition they have my body to play with after… he toyed with your _heart_.” Seymour took Auron’s hand in his own. “I will not do that to you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Auron said. He got to his feet and peeled his shirt off. “I think I’d like to just… be naked, if that’s alright with you.”

Nodding, Seymour got up to undress himself. When Auron was ready, all cleaned up for bed and laying on his side, Seymour circled the bed and slipped beneath the covers. Without words, Seymour opened his arms and Auron tucked himself into them.

In the dark, Seymour could hear some shuddering breaths and felt familiar wetness as Auron cried quietly. Within Seymour, he felt something shift. His heart pounded, not in desire, but a protective anger flared through him. While Auron allowed himself to be vulnerable, Seymour felt fury. Even though the man was long since dead, Seymour wished he had destroyed Saozin completely when he had left the priesthood in Bevelle.

His arms clutched Auron as he drifted off to sleep. No one would break Auron’s heart again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seymour is feeling melancholy, but realizes something about himself; Auron realizes something as well, after being visited by old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small warning for suicidal ideation (no attempt, just talking about it) and depression.

Seymour watched the ocean as night fell, the gentle waves barely rocking the industrial transport ship they sailed on. They were headed to a place called Junon, another new city, a bigger place, another modern area to adjust in. A brief respite from the cold in the beachfront town of Costa Del Sol had reminded Seymour of the coastal villages in Spira. The open sea brought back other memories.

“Anxious?”

Seymour didn’t turn towards Auron, only answered him with a sigh. “Not exactly. Every time we’ve stopped somewhere, it’s provided new problems, different issues… Communication, expenditure, reality…”

“Reality?” Auron leaned on the railing Seymour stood beside, studying his face in the waning moonlight.

Instead of answering, Seymour folded his hands behind his back.

“Do you remember Operation Mi’hen?”

“Can’t forget it,” Auron replied, continuing to watch Seymour’s profile. “Hundreds died. Crusaders, Al Bhed. All a part of your scheme.”

Seymour pursed his lips a moment before carrying on with his thought. “I strongly believed that it would fail. It needed to, for my plans to work. A small part of me, however, perhaps the redeemable part Lady Yuna saw in me, hoped it would succeed.”

Auron raised his undamaged eyebrow in surprise. “What would you have done if Sin had been defeated that day?”

“I don’t know.” Seymour turned his gaze, watching some night birds swoop down and catch some nocturnal fish. “Perhaps I would have killed myself.”

“You wouldn’t have Sent Mika and taken power that way?” Auron turned and leaned both hands on the railing. He could feel Seymour’s gaze on him now, a question unasked. “It seems like something you’d do. Send the Unsent head Maester and take his place. You could still have had your power. I don’t think you wanted to die.”

“I did.”

“If you did, why are you still here, in  _ this  _ time?”

“That’s a question I asked you, once.”

“I had unfinished business. A promise to keep.”

“What do we have now?”

Auron leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, pondering why they were alive now, what good it did if the Farplane, the Lifestream, had given them back to the Planet.

“We have each other,” Auron said. “We have the opportunity to learn. To grow.”

“But why  _ us _ ? Why not Yuna, or any other summoner or guardian? Why  _ us _ , specifically?” Seymour asked. 

“We may never know.”

Seymour sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He hugged his arms and rubbed them. Turning to sit on the railing, Seymour changed the subject.

“Do you remember what it felt like, being an Unsent?”

Auron nodded, turning to lean beside Seymour, providing a line of warmth beside him.

“Everything felt dull. Pain was agony, but pleasure was numbness. Anger fueled me, but I didn’t envy the living like fiends did. I was angry at myself, for failing Braska and Jecht.”

“I didn’t feel anything. And I was glad for it.” Seymour leaned back, resting his weight on his palms and looking up at the stars as they passed overhead. “Not simply the physical pains of existence, but my emotions were gone. What little I had left, anyway. My sorrow, the agony of isolation, it ceased to exist.”

“I understand that all Unsent experienced things differently. We met a summoner’s spirit who trained Yuna in the hopes of her gaining strength to take on Sin. Her desire to defeat Sin in her failure kept her anchored to Spira.”

Seymour gripped the railing with both hands, leaning back further.

“It was euphoric, the absence of pain. Perhaps the core of my madness, in the end. I thought I could be Spira’s savior through its demise… but the elation of not-feeling… I thought it the perfect solution. Everything focused into one guiding waypoint as an Unsent. Destroy Spira. Give people the release of death.”

Auron nodded. “As my promise became my focal point.” He turned, watching Seymour lean dangerously over the edge of the ship. “What are you doing?”

“Pondering whether or not it is worth it to feel again.”

Auron reached out and scooped his hands under Seymour’s arms, pulling him back over the edge and standing him upright.

“If you didn’t think it was worth feeling, you would have let go,” Auron said, looking up into Seymour’s face. Seymour did not meet Auron’s eyes.

“If you thought I wasn’t worth saving, would you have  _ let  _ me go?” Seymour asked, his voice hitching in his throat. “Would you have felt this way back then?”

“Perhaps, if I thought sinking you to the ocean floor might have stopped you. But I think you would have walked on water just to spite me.”

Seymour snorted and rubbed at his eyes. “I never gained that sort of spiritual attunement. I just… let myself decay…” Seymour’s knees buckled, and Auron strained to keep them from both hitting their knees hard against the deck.

“I don’t like this…” Seymour whimpered. “Everything hurts, and I don’t know why I was chosen to return. It’s not fair!” He gripped Auron’s arms hard enough for his nails to dig into his skin. “I was at peace!” Seymour sobbed, sagging to the deck floor.

Auron crouched beside him, gripping Seymour as he collapsed. One knee bent up, the other supporting his own weight, Auron held on, letting Seymour cry for a few moments.

“Seymour, I need you to take a deep breath and look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Just breathe, then. Deep breaths. Focus, and tell me what you hear.”

Seymour nodded against Auron’s chest, slowing his breathing.

“I hear the engine of the ship… the water below… I can hear your heartbeat.”

“Good. What can you feel?”

“I feel the sea air. It’s cold, but you’re very warm. The deck is hard under my legs, and I think my foot’s falling asleep.”

Auron helped Seymour into a better sitting position, still kneeling over him.

“That’s good.” Taking Seymour’s face in both hands, Auron carefully rubbed away the tears. “Open your eyes.” In the moonlight and a bit of light from the decks, Auron could see the redness around Seymour’s eyes, and the pain in them. “What do you see?”

Seymour turned his head as Auron dropped his hands, settling one of his own on the deck for balance. “The stars.” He craned his head back, blinking a few times. “The moon.” He leaned forward and looked up at Auron. “I see you.” His breathing steadied, and he moved onto his knees. “Thank you, Auron. That helped.”

Auron nodded and stood. He offered his hands to Seymour and pulled him up to his feet.

Getting his legs under him, Seymour stood, shaking and suddenly tired from the panic attack. He rubbed at his eyes again, pulling back and moving around Auron.

“I should go to bed. I feel exhausted,” Seymour said, heading toward the stairs to below decks. “Goodnight.”

Auron watched him go, not stopping his departure.

 

In their shared room, Seymour sat on the lower bunk, clutching his chest. His heart pounded, but for different reasons. He thought of Auron coming to his aid, talking him down from the edge and pulling him back from harm.

A realization hit him like cold water against his burning face.

_ He was in love with Auron. _

 

Auron returned to their shared room sometime later. Seymour appeared to be asleep on the upper bunk, his back to the door. Taking stock of their shared space, Auron reflected on how Seymour had been acting on the deck. Though it was the most dramatic he had been since their resurrection, it was also his most melancholic. Auron had to wonder if he had something to do with it. Seymour was an exceptionally tactile person, and confessed a love for sex he had gone without since coming to the “future.” 

Ever since Auron confessed to being used by Saozin, Seymour had been treating him differently. Fewer of his innuendos, certainly no efforts to bed Auron. It was different, not quite like Seymour treated him delicately, but Auron believed Seymour finally understood his reticence to be intimate. However, it still made him feel guilty that he could not simply give Seymour what he wanted. After all, what Seymour needed was  _ only _ physical; Auron’s needs were emotional, weighed down by his unrequited love for Braska.

But… Auron couldn’t do that to Seymour.

Dressing down, Auron slipped under the blanket on his bunk, looking up at the sag of the mattress above him, listening to Seymour’s breathing. He thought about Seymour leaning over the edge of the ship, holding on only as long as he wanted, until Auron pulled him back. He didn’t want to think of himself being the only person keeping Seymour from such dark places. He needed more friends than an old ex-guardian with a chip on his shoulder and carrying a torch for someone long dead. Seymour was still young enough to start over, he just needed the motivation to do so. And someone who could give him the gratification his youthful libido needed. Seymour couldn’t  _ really  _ want Auron _ ,  _ of all people, could he?

Rolling onto his stomach, Auron pressed his face into his pillow, eventually drifting off to a fitful rest.

 

_ “Still holding out for me, old friend?”  _ said a voice in Auron’s mind.

Shaken from the stillness, Auron looked around. He wasn’t on the ship to Junon, but in an open space. It was bright white all around him, until his eyes - two eyes - focused on a swirl of pyreflies, a stream of green energy carrying them around the space in which he stood. To Auron, it felt like he stood upon a large rock in a much larger river, one so vast that he could not see its banks in the endless, white beyond.

From the stream emerged Braska, still in his summoner’s robes, exactly as Auron remembered upon his death.

“Are we in the Farplane?” Auron asked, unfamiliar with the churning energy that floated around him like a river.

“Not quite. A part of it, but not the verdant fields we remember.” Braska took Auron’s hands in his own and smile up to him, the brittle lines of hopeless bravado gone. It was a genuine smile. “It’s good to see you. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Auron said, his voice surprising him with how young it sounded. He looked down at his hands, then touched his face.

“Yes, this is how you last looked before you challenged Yunalesca. Though, I can’t say your current appearance is any less handsome,” Braska said, grinning broadly and reaching up to hold onto Auron’s face. “I felt you reaching out for me. I feel it every time you rest.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-- you were a widower--” Auron stammered. Braska laughed, and he felt his heart flutter with the sound.

“Auron, if you think for a second that I didn’t know, then you weren’t paying attention. Not to mention Jecht teasing you at every given opportunity.” Braska’s smile softened. “I just didn’t know how to respond. I was still mourning-”

“-I knew that, which was why I didn’t to burden you with-”

“Your heart isn’t a burden, Auron. It never was.” Braska pulled Auron down so their foreheads touched. “You remember when I kissed you goodbye?”

“The only time you kissed me.”

“That was the only way I could tell you. I loved you then, and I still do. But you’ve got to move on from me.”

Auron took a deep breath. “I know. You’re just hard to get over.”

“You’ve had two thousand years!” Braska chuckled and stood back. “Don’t tell me the legendary guardian, Sir Auron, is afraid of his own heart?”

“You know what happened to me-”

“Yes, I do. And if I could, I would have kicked Saozin off the Bevelle tower. But, that’s in the past. You might be heartbroken again, but you can’t let fear of that stop you.”

Nodding, Auron put his hands on his shoulders. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“When have you ever balked from a challenge?” Braska pulled Auron’s hands from his shoulders. “You attacked Yunalesca -  _ by yourself _ . I think Jecht would say that takes ‘some balls, man.’”

_ “It does take some balls!” _

Auron and Braska turned, seeing Jecht standing at the edge of the clearing, his hands on his hips.

“What? No tears? No hug for your best friend?” Jecht shoved his way between the two of them and put his arms around Auron. Auron returned the hug, feeling Braska worm his way in to the embrace.

“Now I know this has to be a dream,” Auron said, muffled against the shaggy mop of Jecht’s hair.

“Don’t mean it’s any less important. I swam my ass back here from the Farplane when I felt Braska drift off. Didn’t want to miss the reunion.” Jecht pushed back and took stock of Auron. “Man, your spirit’s all fucked up. Haven’t you listened to me once? I told you to go out, get shitfaced and more importantly - get laid!”

“Jecht!” Braska admonished, chuckling fondly. “You know that’s not in Auron’s nature.”

Jecht threw his arms out at his sides. “Exactly! He’s been so repressed by that stupid monk order that he never got to be a dumbass young man! Hell, you think his pinin’ after you for  **two thousand years** is what a  _ mature adult _ does?”

Auron’s spine stiffened. He felt his vision go dark on his right side, and looked down at his hands. They were worn and a darker tan, harder, tougher.

“No, it isn’t…” Auron trailed, dropping his hands at his sides. 

Jecht smirked and put his hands on his hips. “Takes me showing up to remind you of what kinda man you really are. Yeah, sure, shit might go down, but that ain’t you to just give up, is it?”

“No.” Auron shook his head. “This is my story now.”

“Atta boy.” Jecht punched his shoulder. “And to Hell with this ‘old man’ shit. You might be a grumpy fuck, but you’re sure as hell not old. Somebody’s gonna want to hit that. You should take advantage of that sometime. You’re still pretty hot.”

Auron chuckled and shook his head. “Crass.”

“You know it!” Jecht grinned back.

“I’m proud of you, Auron. Don’t ever forget that. And don’t forget - we love you. Take your time in coming back to us, all right? We’re patient,” Braska said, touching Auron’s other shoulder. “At least, I am.”

Jecht chuckled. “I can wait. You get out there and have a life, man. You earned it. Hell, you even raised my boy better than I could. You get to live.”

Auron held his arms out once more and embraced his lost friends, feeling their warmth carry him into the morning. Pushing up on his elbows, Auron looked around the room as he came to, still feeling the ghosts of their hug on his arms and shoulders on his arms.

Seymour was already up and dressed, checking over his bag and the translation device on his ear. “Good morning. I was going to give you another ten minutes before I woke you.”

Auron sat up, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “Did we stop?” he asked, his throat dry.

“Yes, we’re in Junon now.” Seymour glanced toward the small porthole window, and the city beyond it. “A new life awaits us out there.” He sounded wistful, not nearly as melancholic as the night before.

Auron got to his feet and took Seymour in his arms. After a moment of hesitation, Seymour lowered his arms around Auron’s shoulders.

“What’s this for?” Seymour murmured.

“For you. Just… humor me.”

“Far be it for me to stop your new affectionate side.” Seymour chuckled, parting from Auron’s embrace. “But you should dress. As much as I enjoy seeing you in your underwear, I’m sure it’s still a taboo here in the future.”

Auron chuckled, the phrasing hitting him just right to make him burst into laughter.. He stumbled back onto the bed, one hand over his heart, still laughing.

The sudden break of noise made Seymour chuckle lightly, until he could no longer fight it. Auron was  _ laughing _ , not simply scoffing or huffing behind his cowl. A smile brought out fine lines near the corners of his good eye. The sound warmed Seymour’s heart, and seeing him smile felt like a secret gift. He wanted to stamp down the emotions that roiled inside himself, but that could darken the mood, and make Auron stop.

“Why are we laughing?” Seymour managed to say, between gasping breaths.

“I don’t know.” Auron rubbed a tear from his eye. “I think… I feel  _ good _ . I think…” Auron took a deep breath and stood up. “I think I came to a realization. We have lives, now. Our own stories to tell, destinies to shape as we see fit. We’re not fitting into someone else’s narrative anymore.” Auron stretched, feeling muscles strain and joints pop in a pleasing release of pressure. “It’s like you said - we have a blank slate. Free reign. We can do what we want.”

Seymour raised a brow, not hiding the way his eyes raked up and down Auron as he stretched. “And, what do you want?”

Auron’s smile returned and Seymour felt his guts twist up again.

“Right now? Breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, gang. I've been feeling kind of blue lately, been unable to write or do a lot creatively. Summer... well, it was a long one. I'm still in denial that October is almost over. I know this is kind of a small update compared to previous chapters, but this was the first thing that came to me in a while. Hope you've enjoyed it. <3


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